


I'm Here, Too

by CleverFangirl



Category: Dollhouse
Genre: Ballard and Echo are brotp, Boyd's more creepy, Claire Saunders Doesn't run off, F/F, I also tweak some plot points that always bothered me, Instead she falls in love with Echo, Season 2 Rewrite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-10-23 13:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10720110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CleverFangirl/pseuds/CleverFangirl
Summary: Dollhouse season 2 rewrite.Claire Saunders has just had her entire perception of reality pulled out from under her, and she doesn't think she'll be standing upright any time soon.  She's a Doll, a fake, a program living in a borrowed body she's too scared to give up.  Her entire existence was created by a sociopath in a sweater.  She's alone, so very alone.Echo is starting to remember things.  She's advancing, learning, evolving, changing in ways no one could possibly understand.  She knows what's being done to her every time she sits in that chair.  Only a trusted few can know her secret. She'll bring down the Dollhouse, so that no one else has to feel this alone.





	1. Vows

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of Dollhouse season 2.  
> Each chapter contains rewritten or additional scenes that tweak and change the storylines and events of an episode in the season. Chapters won't be a complete rewrite of each episode (because that's so many words), so if you're not familiar with the show, this probably won't make a ton of sense. 
> 
> That being said, please enjoy!

“Big day.” 

Echo looked up at her handler from her position reclining in the chair.  “Is it?”

He smiled down at her, “Trust me.”

“With my life,” she spoke the words automatically, a tiny singsong edge creeping in as she adjusted her position in the chair as it lowered down until she was lying flat.

As she waited for her treatment to begin, she heard voices coming from the men standing a few feet away from where she was seated. 

“We’re okay, right?”  Echo felt like she knew this man.  She’d seen him before, maybe here, but she also couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d seen him somewhere else too.  She tried to focus on his voice as he continued, “She’s not going to-”

“Glitch?”  He was interrupted by the other man, this one more familiar to Echo.  It was Topher.  He gave everyone their treatments.  “She’s fine, Agent Ballard.”  He paused for a moment, “Sorry, Mr. Ballard.”

Ballard, Echo thought to herself.  That was the tall man’s name.  But it was just part of his name.  She couldn’t remember the first part.  She tried to remember as Topher continued talking, typing away at his keyboard.

“Thirty-nine personalities, all wiped clean away...”

Then her treatment started, blue light surrounding her head.  In a few short moments, all of Echo’s thoughts and memories were silenced, and Roma smiled as the chair raised up. Paul was right there waiting for her as she stretched and stood.  “Hey there, partner,” she told him with a playful grin.  “Let’s go get me married.” 

 

* * *

Claire heard the scream of surprise from the imprinting room all the way from her desk in the clinic.  It had taken Topher longer than she’d expected to find the rats she’d hidden in his cabinets.  She barely had time to crack a satisfied smile before her phone rang.  Standing from her desk, she picked up the phone and, walked across to one of the windows of the clinic, where she could better view Topher’s reaction, and let him see hers.

“Is this your idea of a joke?”  He asked the instant she answered his call.  

“You designed me, Mr. Brink,” she reminded him coolly as she peered out the window up at him.  “I guess it must be  _ your _ idea of a joke.” 

“I designed you to be a  _ not _ crazy woman!” He snapped at her. 

She rolled her head back a little, keeping her mouth somewhat open, enjoying the effect she was having on him maybe a little too much.  If he didn’t want her to act crazy, he shouldn’t have let her find out that she wasn’t real.  

“You’ve got to stop messing with me,” he told her, unable to keep a pleading tone out of his words.  He sounded almost scared of her. 

Good, Claire thought to herself, smiling a little.  He should be scared of her.  “I don’t seem to be able to,” she told him calmly.  “Maybe your work’s not up to par.”

Even at their distance she could see him looking around his office from his perch.  The rats must still be loose, Claire reasoned.  This thought was confirmed as he let out an unnerved exclamation before saying, “My work is pristine,” he snapped.  For the first time, he’d apparently recovered enough from the shock enough to match her calm tone.  “If you’re losing it, that’s your fault.”

She knew he was trying to assuage his own guilt, move the blame of her existence from himself onto her, but that didn’t stop the way her heart rate increased at the thought that maybe it was just her.  She wasn’t going to let him notice her fear, though.  “You sure?” She asked him, now working a little to keep her words even.  

“I know what I know,” he told her firmly.  

What could he possibly know that would help him sleep at night, Claire wondered.  “Put the rats back in the maze, Topher, before one of them bites you.”

He looked at her for a moment, and Claire wasn’t sure at this distance whether the expression on his face was one of fear or pity.  Claire forced herself to maintain eye contact.  She didn’t want his pity, but she wasn’t going to be the first to back down.  They stared at each other as Topher hung up and turned away.  

“You busy?” 

She jumped at the sudden voice.  She turned around to see Boyd, standing in the middle of the clinic, a red folder in his hands.  

Claire stared at him.  “J-just, uh, dealing with some vermin,” she stuttered out.  She cleared her throat, walking back to her desk to set down the phone, “Is this about Echo again?”  He’d been in here a few times since Echo’s encounter with Alpha, wanting to check and double-check, and then triple-check that she was completely healthy.  Claire couldn’t blame him, even though she found his intrusions to be irritating at times.   _ Everyone _ had been worried about Echo, even herself.

“Victor,” he corrected her, holding the folder out for her.  “I didn’t know if you were copied on his results.”  He paused as he watched her take the file, apparently considering his next words.  “The scars are practically gone.  One more surgery, you’ll never know they were there.” 

Claire flipped the folder open, but didn’t really read any of its contents.  She forced a smile and said, “Yes I was surprised that Ms. Dewitt would authorize such an expensive process for an active.”

“When she didn’t before.”

It took every ounce of strength Claire possessed not to react to his words.  This was why she didn’t like him in here.  He talked to her like he knew her, like he had the right to just casually stab her with his words.  She took a deep breath, giving her head a little shake.  Her scars were stinging again, even though they’d long since healed as well as they were going to. 

“There’s no reason she couldn’t do the same for you,” Boyd told her quietly.  He was looking at her with concern.  

Claire didn’t want to think about all the psychological implications of the bolt of fear that shot through her at the thought of having her scars healed.  She shook her head as if trying to clear it of a daydream, firmly telling herself to ignore any signs of both hope and fear that sprung up at the thought.  “I like my scars,” she told him with a wide smile.  “They bring out my eyes.”  She moved away from her desk, walking somewhat aimlessly around the clinic, and doing her best to avoid noticing how Boyd patiently followed after her.  “Without my scars, I might as well be one of them,” she reasoned, leaning up against the examination chair.  She sighed, feeling the now-familiar crushing weight of uncertainty and fear settling on her shoulders.  Her voice grew quieter until it was barely more than a whisper.  “And sooner or later, Ms. DeWitt will remember I was a more lucrative asset when I was.”  

“There’s no way on earth-” 

She shook her head, forcing down the tears that were threatening to fall, “Adelle DeWitt is not the type of person-”

“That I would allow it,” Boyd finished firmly.  

Claire fell silent, looking at the tall man standing opposite her, with just the examination chair between them.  He was smiling at her, so calm, so confident, completely sure of his ability to override the will of the woman who runs the Dollhouse.  

He was delusional.

“What if she went over your head?”  She asked him, trying to bring him down to earth gently.

“I’m very tall.”  Claire would have thought he was joking, but his tone was almost deadly serious. 

She laughed, because it was easier than hoping.  She looked down, unable to hold his gaze, unable to resist voicing the question that had been itching in the back of her mind ever since he’d started acting more familiar towards her.

She pointed vaguely at him for a moment.  “Before you knew,” she walked past him, shrugging her lab coat off her shoulders.  “Before  _ either _ of us knew that I was a fake-”

“Claire,” he interrupted.

“An Active, a Doll,” she corrected herself, unable to hold back an eyeroll as she hung up her lab coat, adjusting her dress a little self-consciously.  “When you thought I was just a doctor, you didn’t care much for me.”  She smiled as she said it, knowing she was right.  She and Boyd had clashed frequently over the few years they’d both been here.  Not nearly as much as she’d fought with Topher, but still enough for her to have many memories of it. 

“We disagreed about things,” he admitted. 

“Hm,” she said coolly.  “So, should I interpret this new concern as pity?” She asked with an exaggerated pout.  “Curiosity?  Deviant excitement?”  He wasn’t meeting her gaze now as she walked closer to him.  He backed up a few steps but she continued to push at him.  “There’s no judging in the Dollhouse,” she told him knowingly. 

He took a deep breath, “You seem to be having a hard time-”

“My entire existence was constructed by a sociopath in a sweater-vest,” she reminded him dryly.  “What do you suggest I do?”

He stared at her for a moment, not breaking eye contact, as he said, “Have dinner with me.” 

Claire took a step back.

He continued, “I think you should get out of here for a while.  And I’d be glad of the company.”

Claire leaned against her desk, but found that that support was inadequate.  Still mystified, she walked back to her desk chair and sat.  “I-I don’t go out,” she admitted, staring off into nothingness. “I’m afraid to leave this place.”  She took a deep breath that was barely helpful in calming her nerves, “I have a problem with crowds, with people, and sunlight, open spaces, noise, pets.”  Boyd was looking at her, nodding his head in understanding.  She hated his pity.  She hated how he felt like he had a right to relate to her.  He had no idea what she was going through.  She wanted him to leave, to stop visiting her.  She gave him her best crazy-eyed look and added, “For some reason I’m just built that way.”

He shook his head, “Every person I know is pretty poorly constructed.  Everyone has an excuse for not dealing.  But eventually, that’s all they are--excuses.”

He was waiting for her to agree with him.  To bypass her own excuses and bring up dinner again.  To admit he was right and take a leap of faith.  She wasn’t going to.  But she nodded vaguely, emitting a barely audible, “Hmm.”  To show that she’d heard him.  Then a thought occurred to her and she asked, “What’s yours?”

He looked at her then, his eyebrow raised in surprise at the unexpected question.  “I’ll leave you to your work,” he told her smoothly, pushing himself to his feet.

Claire frowned.  That wasn’t the response she’d been expecting.  But it made him leave, left her alone once more to wallow in her collapsing perception of reality.  

* * *

“Hey,” the newly married Roma Klar leaned forward.  “How long have we been partners?”  She was sitting opposite her partner, both of them tucked away in the little room that Paul had turned into his surveillance den.  

He leaned back, adjusting all the papers strewn about his desk.  “Three years?” He said, more as a question than a solid answer. 

She looked him right in the eye.  She had to make sure her he understood where she was coming from, she wasn’t abandoning this op until it was  _ done _ .  And if that meant she had to go on some hugely expensive honeymoon and sleep with Klar a few more times, all the more fun for her.  But she was going to catch this guy and he was going to rot in jail.  “Have I ever said I’m sure and been wrong?” She asked.

“I’m guessing not,” he said, keeping his face straight.  

She took a deep breath, now wasn’t the best time for his jokes, but she’d deal with that later.  “Trust me,” she told him firmly.  “Everything we’ve worked for happens now.”  How come he wasn’t excited?  Maybe casual sex bothered him more than she’d thought.

“Not quite yet.”

Roma looked up to see her handler entering the room, smiling warmly at her.  “Not until you’ve had your treatment.”  A few more men in suits followed him in, flanking around her. 

“Wait,” Paul started.

But Roma was already standing.  “No, a treatment sounds great.” 

“I need her,” Paul insisted to her handler. 

“Her protocol says she comes in.”

Why was Paul so against protocol, Roma wondered as she followed the men.  He is a special agent after all, and if FBI protocol says she needs a treatment after she’s been in the field for a long time, who are they to argue?

“Long-term engagements are, um, tricky,” the handler continued.  “Gotta check the wiring, and the plumbing.”  

“I want Echo back as soon as she’s checked out!” Paul called after them as Roma followed the men out of the room.  

Echo?  Roma thought to herself.  Something was itching in the back of her mind at that name.  The name sounded familiar to her.  Was that... her name?  No, she was Roma.  She was a cop, a detective, a special agent.  She took down the bad guys however she needed to and once she set her mind on something, she followed it through until it was  _ done _ .  That’s who she was.  

So why did Paul sound so concerned for someone named Echo?

Roma considered this question as she sat in the back of the van.  Her handler tried to ask her a few questions about how last night had gone, but she found his inquiries more irritating than Paul’s had been.  Plus she couldn’t shake that thought in the back of her mind that she should  _ know _ this Echo.  Had she been involved in a case she and Paul had worked?  Roma thought back through all of the cases they’d solved over the last three years.  There’d been a lot, she remembered proudly.  But she couldn’t place a face to the name Echo.  Still, that didn’t change how  _ familiar _ the name was to her.

She couldn’t shake the thought all the way back to the Dollhouse, while she changed, or even as her handler escorted her to the room where she gets her treatments.  Why did she feel like she knew Echo?  Maybe she’d ask Paul when she got back to him after her treatment.  

She settled herself into the chair and felt it lean back.  

“How’d it go?” Topher asked her handler as he started typing away at the keyboard.

“She had a very active night,” the handler replied knowingly.

Topher chuckled, “Of course she did.  Klar’s a freak in the sheets.  We knew we needed someone who could keep up.” 

Bright lights shone around her head for a few moments as everything that made Roma Klar a person was wiped clean out of her mind.  The chair seat leaned up and Echo looked around.  

“Did I fall asleep?” She asked Topher.

“For a little while,” he responded kindly.

Echo looked around.  She felt like she’d forgotten something important.  There’d been a question that she wanted to ask someone.  She couldn’t remember it now, but she knew it had been important.

“Echo?” Topher asked, sounding a little worried.

Echo shook her head, “Shall I go now?”  Was that the question?  No, it was something else.

He watched her for a moment, like maybe he was considering something.  She looked up at him, keeping her face perfectly calm and not displaying any hint of the discomfort she was feeling at her forgetfulness.  Finally, he nodded, “If you like.”  

Echo smiled, and stood to go.  

Immediately, her handler appeared at her side, “Dr. Saunders would like to see you, Echo.” 

Echo smiled, “I like Dr. Saunders.  She’s nice.” 

Calmly, Echo made her way down the stairs and across the main floor of the Dollhouse.  Around her, a group of dolls were doing their afternoon yoga.  A few more were eating at some of the tables.  She spotted Sierra and Victor sitting together at the art tables, working on some paintings.  Echo would like to join them after visiting Dr. Saunders.

She walked into the clinic.  

Dr. Saunders was waiting for her.  “Echo, sit down,” she ordered briskly, gesturing towards the examination table.  

Echo did as she was told.

“How are you feeling?” Dr. Saunders asked, pulling on some blue gloves. 

Echo thought for a moment.  She was still confused by the thought that hadn’t left her head that she couldn’t remember.  But something told her that that wasn’t a good answer to the question.  Instead, she replied, “A little sleepy.”

“They tell me you had a big night,” Dr. Saunders said, not really looking at Echo as she pulled a little cart with a tray of her equipment a little closer to where Echo was seated.

“Who tells you?”  Echo couldn’t stop the question, though she knew she probably shouldn’t ask it.  Maybe whoever it was knew what she had forgotten.

Dr. Saunders looked at her for a moment, apparently caught off guard.  Instead of replying, she simply positioned herself between Echo’s legs.  “You’re going to feel a little pressure,” she warned her.

She reached down to begin examining Echo.  As she did, something flashed in Echo’s mind.  

She wasn’t Echo at all.  She was Regina Hollander, a high class socialite who was attending a large party as the guest of Edward Kingsley, billionaire playboy.  She laughed as he whispered sweet nothings in her ear, clinging to his arm like the trophy she knew she was.  The courtyard for the event was packed, they were surrounded by guests who wanted to talk to Edward and complement the beautiful woman on his arm.  Regina accepted their comments graciously, but made sure to direct all conversation back to Edward as soon as possible.  Then, after he’d left her alone to fetch them both drinks, through the sea of people emerged one person in particular who caught her eye.  

It definitely wasn’t Edward. 

She was tall, glamorous in a silver dress that sparkled in the night lighting.  An older woman wearing a mask was holding tightly to her arm with one hand, and clutching a drink in the other.  The mysterious woman met Regina’s eyes, she flashed her a cunning smile, and began walking over.  

The moment this woman, who quickly introduced herself only as Samantha, entered their conversation, Regina gave her attention to no one else.  She even waved Edward off when he returned and tried to pull her to the dance floor, her eyes never leaving Samantha’s face.  This woman’s wit was sharp, her humor was scathing, and she was so incredibly beautiful.  She was Regina’s perfect match, and they both knew it.  Regina gave up any thoughts of sneaking off with Edward to fool around in the gardens, now determined to take this woman to the nearest available bedroom and spend many, many hours with her.  

The lights flashed brightly and now Regina was standing right next to Samantha, staring into her eyes, the partygoers around them might as well be dust in the wind for all the attention either woman was giving them.  Samantha’s eyes kept glancing down to Regina’s lips.  She moved closer.  

Regina rubbed a hand gently on Samantha’s shoulder.  Her other hand moved up to caress the woman’s face.  She pulled her in for a kiss.  Her lips were so sweet.  

Another flash, and Echo gasped.  

She’d just been kissing someone.  She’d just  _ been _ someone.  Someone that wasn’t Echo.  She’d been... Regina.  And she’d been kissing a woman, Samantha.  

Dr. Saunders glanced almost uncomfortably at Echo as she removed her gloves.  “Clean bill of health,” she said formally. 

Echo stared at her.  The woman she’d just been kissing had looked exactly liked Dr. Saunders, only her face had had no scars.  But Claire Saunders wasn’t her name.  Neither was Samantha.  Echo sat up, “Whiskey.” 

The moment Echo said the name, she felt calmer.  The question that had been nagging at her since her treatment now seemed unimportant, because she was with Whiskey.  For some reason, Echo knew that Whiskey was safe.  

She smiled.  How could she have ever forgotten about her?

* * *

 

 

Claire froze, feeling like she’d just been zapped with a thousand volts.  Her mind was racing to make sense of the single word--the  _ name _ \--that had just come out of Echo’s mouth.  “D-did someone say that to you?” She asked, struggling to keep her words even and calm (it’s incredibly important to stay calm and approachable while interacting with Dolls).  “To call me that?”

“You were number one,” Echo said with a slight smile, like she was remembering something fondly.  

“Yes,” Claire frowned.  Echo shouldn’t know the name Whiskey.  She shouldn’t remember that Whiskey had been number one.  She shouldn’t be  _ reminding _ Claire that Whiskey had been number one.  

Echo was still staring at her with that vague smile, then her forehead crinkled.  “I don’t remember the rest,” she admitted.

“Alpha cut up my face,” Claire snapped, feeling anger and fear spiking inside her as she dared to mutter her attacker’s name.  “Do you remember that?” She asked softly, staring off into nothingness.

Beside her, Echo’s head tilted to one side, “Why?”

“So  _ you _ could be number one,” Claire practically whispered.

She couldn’t bring herself to look up from the tray of medical tools, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw Echo’s head tilt to one side.  “Am I?”  The doll asked, curiously.  

Claire clenched her jaw, “You are.”  A little voice in the back of her mind told Claire to calm down.  She shouldn’t be talking to Echo like this.  It’s not like Echo could understand any of it.  But Claire ignored that voice, focusing instead on the scalpel sitting on the tray, just a few inches from her fingertips.  

Her fingers brushed the handle of the instrument.  She wondered what it would be like to use it like Alpha had, to slice up Echo’s face with just a few flicks of her wrist.  Surely it would be cleaner than the scissors Alpha had used on her.  Maybe it would even do something to relieve the anger, the unending tension, the agony of  _ knowing _ , that she’d been enduring for the past months, from the instant she’d learned the truth about Whiskey.  

Her fingers closed around the scalpel.  

“I’m sorry.” 

Claire froze, “What?”  She looked up, positive that she must have misheard Echo’s words. 

Echo was looking at her with sad eyes (dolls shouldn’t feel sadness, why was she looking at her like that?) and said again, “I’m sorry that Alpha hurt you, because of me.” 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Claire said immediately, spurred more by some kind of instinct rather than actual conviction.  But as soon as the words left her, she realized they were true.  Echo wasn’t responsible for her situation.  Alpha was.  DeWitt and Topher might as well be listed as accomplices, since they decided to create Claire Saunders from a broken Whiskey in the first place.  But none of it was Echo’s fault.  If Claire looked at the situation honestly, Echo was just as much a victim as she was.  After all Echo had never  _ asked _ for Alpha’s attention.

“I should have done something,” Echo said vaguely.

Claire sighed, “There’s nothing anyone could have done.”

Wait, was she consoling a doll?

Claire shook her head, grabbing a lollipop from her jar and unwrapping it.  “We’re all done here, Echo,” she said, popping the candy into her own mouth.  “You don’t want to be late for your art lesson.” 

Echo stood from the examination chair, looking around in the dazed contentment that was the natural state of dolls.  “Whiskey likes art,” she said, her words tinged with something that could be apathy, but could also be more sadness.

Claire crunched down hard on the candy, shattering it into little shards in her mouth.  She closed her eyes tightly, keeping her back to Echo.  “I’m  _ not _ Whiskey,” she hated how her voice cracked.  She wished she sounded stronger. 

“Okay,” Echo said calmly.  

Claire waited a few minutes to make sure she’d left before turning back around.  She didn’t want anyone, not even Echo, to see her tears.  

* * *

Roma Klar was breaking into her husband’s desk.  She was being careful, glancing up at the doorway every few seconds as she maneuvered the letter opener around in the keyhole.  She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard the door to her left open up, and Martin saying, “That desk was my grandfather’s.”

Roma stood quickly, her mind racing.  This was not good.  Out of all the bad situations she’d been caught in, having her murderous husband walking in on her picking a lock was definitely up there in the top ten.  “I know,” she told him, keeping her face innocent.  Well, not  _ innocent _ , because he had caught her, but trying to avoid looking as completely guilty as she actually was.

“So I’d prefer if you didn’t stab it to death,” he told her coolly, closing the door behind him and leaning back against it.

Shit, he was on to her.  Roma could see it in his body language, how distant he was keeping himself from her, the way he looked at her.  “No, I just...” She had to pin this on something believable.  She smiled, turning to him, reverting to full playful wife mode.  “This is your fault,” she told him teasingly.  

He chuckled, somewhat astonished.  He definitely hadn’t seen that accusation coming.  Good, Roma thought, keep him on his toes, don’t play into what he’s expecting.  She could talk her way out of this, she had to.  

“I’m-I’m all ears,” he stuttered, still baffled by her words.  

Roma gave him her best puppy dog eyes, “You know I can’t stand surprises.  You  _ have _ to tell me where we’re going.”  He’d made such a big deal about not telling her where the honeymoon was, and in doing so he’d given her the perfect cover for why she’d be snooping around.  It was so perfect Roma could almost kiss him.  If things went well, hopefully she’d be kissing him soon and this would all be behind them.  “Half the fun of a honeymoon is packing and,” she stopped, grinning at him flirtatiously.  “Well, maybe not  _ half _ .” 

“Wait, you say this from experience?” He asked.  His words were still cold.  He was still suspicious, but he did walk toward her.  “From your many marriages?”

Roma continued to look nothing but innocent and confused, keeping in the part of the devoted wife.  She’d brought up the fact that she’d been married before to him, and he’d been fine with it, but right now it sounded more like an accusation.  “What’s up?”

“What, besides you assaulting a family heirloom?”  He asked.

Roma forced herself not to breathe a sigh of relief.  He bought her story, he was just mad about the desk.  He’d get over that.  She did her best to look apologetic, “I’m sorry.”  She held up her hands in a gesture of innocence, “I didn’t leave a scratch.” 

He smiled at her, “It’s alright, don’t worry.”  He had his hands on her shoulders, then reached up to brush a strand of hair out of her face.  Roma allowed herself to relax.  He believed her, her cover had worked.  The op was still good.  

Martin’s hand grabbed her hair and slammed her head against the table, throwing her to the floor.

“I can always have it refinished,” he said calmly.  

She sat up.  Her ears were ringing, everything was flashing.  

Echo-

No.

Eleanor-

No.

_ Roma _ tried to back away from her husband.  “Martin...”  She reached up, feeling the blood from her forehead trickling down to just above her eye.  

He was looking down at her curiously.  “What, no self-defense training?” He asked.  “No second gun in the ankle holster?” 

Eleanor-

Or was she Jenny?

No she was Roma, and she could barely follow what he was saying.  Her head felt like it was going to explode, “Please.”

“I can’t believe he’d leave you here without any kind of defense,” Martin continued.  He reached down to grab her again, taking in a handful of her hair. 

Roma shouted at him, “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” 

He forced her to look at him, their faces barely an inch apart, there was a terrifying fire in his eyes.  “Do you take this man to be your lawfully-wedded husband?”  He asked. 

“Martin, I love you,” Roma told him desperately.  She knew breaking character now would blow this whole thing.  She’d play this out until the end.  

He ignored her words and continued, “To love and honor, in sickness and in health, so long as you both shall live?”

“I do!” She snarled more than said, trying to focus through the pain in her head and the tears in her eyes. 

He pulled on his fistfull of her hair, shouting, “Who are you?”

She blinked, more tears springing to her eyes at this new pain, “My name is Roma Klar.”  She let the tears fall, reminding herself that there was no need to hold them back.  She’d done no wrong.  

He glared at her for a moment, then nodded.  “Yes, it is.”  He released his hold on her hair, patting her head for a moment before standing.  “It’s comical, it is.  I understand, the key to comedy, the, um, the timing.”

Roma tried to listen to him but her head was still pounding.

“One day,” Martin was saying.  “One day wed, and I get this!”  He pulled a picture from his pocket, slamming it down on the chair next to her for her to see.  “Proof that my wife is my enemy.”

Roma’s stomach dropped.  It was a picture of her and Paul.  How had Martin gotten this?  Paul had made it very clear that they shouldn’t ever be seen in public together for this very reason.  But they must have screwed up somehow because the picture was right there in front of her.  

It definitely didn’t help that Martin definitely knew enough about Paul to recognize his face.  

“Paul Ballard,” Martin said, rubbing the back of his neck.  “Where did he find you?”

Roma put a hand to her head to try and alleviate some of the pain.

Wait, was she Echo now?

Regina was pushing Samantha down onto a bed, kissing her fiercely.  

“Huh?”  Martin was still talking.  “I mean, you’re not Bureau.  Uh, Witness Protection?  Starving actress?  What did he promise you?”

Echo looked around, where was Whiskey?

“Is he your lover?”

No, no, she was Roma, Roma Klar, and she was in trouble.  And just because Martin recognized Paul didn’t mean she had to.  “I’ve never seen this man,” she said furiously.  

Martin didn’t like that.  “This a photo!” He shouted, grabbing the picture and shoving it in her face.  “Have you seen this man, darling?”  He went to grab her hair again.

She was not going to let him have that kind of leverage twice.  She pulled away from him, shouting back this time, “It’s fake! It’s Photoshopped!”  She took the picture from Martin, really looking at it.  “Or this guy, he asked me for the time and had someone snap a picture.”  

“Why?” Martin demanded.

“To hurt you!”  Roma told him furiously.  “He’s your enemy.  He comes at what’s closest to you!”  She shoved the picture back at Martin, “Well good for him!”  She had him on the ropes now, she could see him second guessing his conviction in her betrayal.  She could still save this if only she could focus long enough through the pounding in her head.  She had to end this, quick.  She let her voice break a little in righteous anger as she spoke, “I thought you were gentle and honest.  He knew better, you wife-beating piece of shit!”

Martin seemed convinced by this point, stepping closer to her and speaking more softly.  “Listen,” he reached to take her hand.  

But a wrongfully attacked wife was not going to take that lying down.  Roma pulled away from him, shouting, “Don’t touch me!”

Now Martin held up his hands in an innocent gesture, “Roma!  Roma, Roma, I’m sorry.”  

She needed to push him more.  Maybe she could get something, some useful intel, out of this terrifying encounter.  “Who has enemies like that?” She demanded.  “Who the hell are you that people hate you that much?”  He turned away from her, taking a few steps back to give her space.  “I’m not stupid,” she told him.  “Martin, I know you’re now just a freaking financier, but I don’t care!  I didn’t marry your job!”  She paused, taking a calming breath before adding, “I married you.” 

He was looking at her in astonishment, regret and hope equally visible in his face.  “I can’t be wrong about you,” he breathed.  

“Look at me,” she pleaded.  “Just forget everything and look at me.”

Her head was still pounding.  

“I am your wife.”  She took a few steps towards Martin, closing the space between them.

There were too many people she needed to be.  

She pressed her forehead to his.  He closed his eyes as she spoke.  “For the rest of my life I am and will always be...”  

Who  _ was _ she?

This was it, this was the final moment where she convinced him once and for all that she was on his side, his dedicated wife.  “Mrs. Eleanor Penn.”

Martin’s eyes flashed open.

“Wait.”  That was wrong.  Echo knew it the moment she said the name.  But just like that all the people in her head went quiet.  She couldn’t become any of them.  She couldn’t remember their names.  “Who did they make me this time?”

* * *

It was the only plan Claire could think of.  She didn’t know if she could actually go through with it but she was desperate.  She knew exactly why Topher had created her the way he had.  Once she figured it out, she couldn’t believe it had taken her so long to see his goal, his endgame. She knew what he wanted from her.  Maybe if she played along, if she followed the path he’d laid out for her, if she gave him what he needed, then maybe she could find closure for herself too.  

That’s what she kept telling herself as she snuck into the costume room and stole a black lingerie set from the section reading  _ Whiskey 1  _ (she knew DeWitt had kept all the clothes that had been made for Whiskey, it was one of the many reasons she was sure her time as Claire Saunders could be brought to an end at any moment).  She reminded herself of her plan as she crept through the Dollhouse, sneaking up to Topher’s office and then into the backroom where he slept.  

She did her best to follow the plan-- _ his plan _ \--even as he tried to push her away, to delay his conquest.  He was trying to maintain his sense of honor, she figured, as he protested weakly against her advances.  In a few more moments he’d decide that he’d resisted enough and take her.  She thought she’d finally won, finally given him what he’d always wanted as she pinned him to his bed and whispered in his ear, “I love you.  I love you.”  Her stomach turned as she spoke but what did her thoughts and feelings matter to anyone anymore?

Suddenly he pushed her up, forcing him off of her.  That was the last straw.  After everything she’d put herself through, trying to follow his master plan, she’d had enough.  She slapped him across the face as she crawled off of him.

“Ow!” he shouted, inching back away from her, holding his stinging cheek.  “You need a freaking treatment!” 

“Why shouldn’t I love you?” Claire asked desperately, rising to her feet.  She snapped a blanket at him as she stood, “Aren’t you lovable?  Aren’t you Big Brother?  Aren’t you the Lord My God?  Why should I fight your divine plan?” She demanded.

“Because you’re better than that!” He shouted, standing to meet her gaze.  “Because you’re better than me.”

Claire looked at him, uncomprehending.  This wasn’t his plan?  She backed away slowly, watching as he began pacing.  Then, what was the point?  

He walked back and forth, apparently thinking hard, or maybe remembering something?  He stopped and turned to look at her again.  “Dr. Saunders was dead,” he explained.  

Claire didn’t want to hear this.

“And Whiskey was... out of service, at least temporarily.”

Why was he telling her this story?  She didn’t want to know  _ why _ she’d been made.  She didn’t want to understand his point of view. 

“So DeWitt gave me the call,” he waved his arms around vaguely, going back to his pacing. “‘We need a new doctor.   One who’s committed to our cause, who’s kind, and efficient, and will look after our Actives.’”

“So why didn’t you stop there?” Claire asked, not even bothering to wince as she heard her own voice creep towards the edge of breaking.

“Because I was designing a person, not a Roomba,” Topher told her, facing her once more.  He ran his hand through his hair, making his already messy bed-hair stand on end.  His face was something close to anguished as he continued, “I  _ needed _ you to be whole.  If you agreed with everything I said, then we would miss something and someone would get hurt.”

No, no that couldn’t be it.  Claire shook her head, “You don’t care i-if people get hurt.”

“You don’t know me!” He shouted at her.

Claire tried to get away from his words, but found that her back was already pressing into the wall.

Topher sighed, sitting back down on his bed.  “That’s the contract,” he said, and Claire tried to ignore how his voice wavered.  “You don’t know me, and I don’t know you.  Not fully, not ever,” his words were barely more than a defeated whisper.  “I made you question.  I made you fight for your beliefs.”  He was staring at nothing, speaking as he thought.  “I didn’t make you hate me.”  He smiled a little, looking almost... proud.  “You  _ chose _ to.” 

Claire didn’t want to look at him.  She didn’t want to be something he’d made, something that he was  _ proud _ of.  It was all too much.  She didn’t bother holding back her tears anymore as she slid down the wall.  “How do I live?” She asked him, like a lost soul calling on a divine power for guidance.  She sniffled as her tears began falling.  “How do I go through my day knowing everything I think comes from something I can’t abide?”  She clutched her hands together, resting them on her shoulder, trying to fold in on herself and disappear.  When Topher seemed confused by her question she raised her eyebrows and nodded slightly to indicate him.

He looked at her suspiciously, getting the hint.  “So you weren’t really gonna sleep with me.”

“I can’t stand the smell of you,” Claire admitted, ducking the question but admitting some truth.  

He laughed a little, smiling again.  “I did that.” 

Claire looked up at the ceiling.  So if that wasn’t his plan, if he’d had  _ no plan _ , what was she supposed to do now?  This had been her last bet, her plan Z.  She’d surrendered everything she was to try and fulfill what she’d thought was her purpose only to find out that she’d never had a purpose to begin with.  

Topher was still talking, “So, we never...”  Claire’s thoughts must have been showing on her face because he stopped his question and moved to kneel in front of her on the floor.  “Why didn’t you find out who you really used to be?”

Claire kept her hands clasped near her face, her arms blocking her view of him.  

“You had your chance,” Topher pressed.  “Maybe DeWitt would even re-imprint you with your old identity.  You’ve earned it.”

He was phrasing it like he was offering her some reward.  Like being re-imprinted was something to be desired, something she wanted.  He really didn’t understand what he’d done at all, did he?  

So Claire told him.  She told him exactly what his ‘reward’ would mean for the person that he’d created, the person he’d made her to be.  She looked at him and she told him, “Because I don’t want to die.” 

She could see in his face that he’d never considered what happened when an imprint is removed from a Doll, what happens to the person left inside that circuitboard.  He’d known the data was stored for later use but he’d never once considered it death.  He shifted from a crouch to sitting on the floor as Claire continued. 

“I’m not even real,” she admitted, voicing for the first time the darkest thoughts that had been haunting her ever since she hacked into his computer.  “I’m in someone else’s body, and I’m afraid to give it up.”  Her tears had stopped now.  She’s not sure when that happened, when the sadness gave way to resignation.  “I’m not better than you,” she told Topher.  What Boyd had told her suddenly flashed into her mind and she realized, “I’m just a series of excuses.”  

Topher leaned a little closer.  “You’re human,” he told her, apparently trying to be comforting.  

Claire looked at him dubiously, shaking her head, “Don’t flatter yourself.” 

She wasn’t quite sure how long they sat there.  It could have been a few seconds or an hour.  Finally she stood, grabbing her lab coat from where she’d left it near his bed.  She was almost out the door when Topher called after her, “A-are you going to be okay?”

She turned and looked back at him, still sitting on his floor, probably processing everything that had just happened.  She sighed, “False concern isn’t your strong suit, Topher.”  Without another word, she left him alone.  

* * *

The people inside Echo’s head were getting louder again by the time Paul got her back to the Dollhouse.  She didn’t panic this time, though.  She knew she was getting a treatment soon.  Her head still hurt a lot.  But somewhere in the back of her mind, Roma was satisfied.  She’d finally figured out who Echo was.  

She was all of them.  

Echo smiled to herself as the chair leaned back and lights shone around her head.  

When Echo sat up, the voices were gone, though she knew now that they’d return soon enough.

Her head was still hurting.  She was pretty sure Paul’s (admittedly successful) attacks on her face had reopened the cut on her head from Martin’s interrogation.  Not to mention she was pretty sure she could feel some bruises in the shape of his fist already forming on her cheek.  She needed to go see Whiskey-no, Dr. Saunders.

Near her seat, Adelle DeWitt was talking to Paul,  “You got your man.”

Paul smiled down at Echo, “She got him.”

“Well she wouldn’t have if you hadn’t seen what her handler failed to.  Topher said her readings were all over the place.”

Paul smiled, “Yeah, well, concussion.”  He walked away to check on something with Topher.  

Echo looked up at DeWitt, reminding herself that she needed to ask a few questions before she could go get head her head looked at.  “Did I fall asleep?”

DeWitt smiled warmly, “For a little while.”

Echo nodded, “Shall I go?”

“If you like,” DeWitt told her.  But as Echo stood to leave, she added, “Echo, please go see Dr. Saunders to get your head checked.”

Echo nodded, smiling.  “I like Dr. Saunders.” 

She took the stairs down and crossed the main floor quickly.  She paused though as she pushed open the doors to the clinic, doors that Echo could never remember seeing closed.  

Dr. Saunders was standing behind her desk, a pen in her hand, scribbling something on a piece of paper.  Her lab coat was thrown on the floor next to her, a suitcase right next to it.  She was wearing a blue dress.

Claire looked up in panic as she heard the doors open.  No, not now.  Not after how careful she’d been in her planning.  She was going to slip out while everyone was busy with their afternoon tasks.  Boyd was supposed to be in a meeting with Adelle, she’d thought she’d had more time.  

But it was Echo standing there vaguely in the barely opened doors, not Boyd.  

Claire immediately relaxed.  “Echo,” she said, somewhat awkwardly, setting down the pen in her hand.  “What are you doing here?”

Echo looked at her, tilting her head to one side curiously, “Are you leaving?” 

Claire bit her lip, “Um, yes.  Yes, Echo, I am.  I’m leaving.”  That’s what she’d decided.  She had no purpose here, no goals, no ties, nothing that wasn’t programmed into her anyways, she thought bitterly.  Besides, the longer she stayed around, the more time she gave DeWitt to consider whether it’s worth the security risk of keeping around a permanently-imprinted Doll who  _ knows _ she’s a Doll.  No matter how tall Boyd claimed to be, she knew even he couldn’t outmaneuver DeWitt forever.

She wasn’t sure she wanted his protection anyways.  

Echo frowned.  She didn’t want Dr. Saunders to leave.  “That’s sad.”

Claire looked at her for a moment, confused about why Echo would think her leaving would be sad, of all things.  Before she could even think about how to ask Echo to explain her thought, Claire noticed the drying blood on Echo’s forehead.  

“Oh my god, what happened?”  Without thinking, she grabbed her lab coat and pulled it back on, guiding Echo to the examination chair.

Echo considered her question as Dr. Saunders pulled a pair of blue gloves on.  What  _ had _ happened?  “I think,” she said slowly.  “I think my husband was mad at me.” 

Claire nearly dropped the bottle of disinfectant she’d been holding.  She paused in her attempt to clean Echo’s wound.  “What?”

“He was mad at me,” Echo repeated, more firmly this time.  “For sneaking around,” she added.  “And then Paul hit me.”  She rubbed her face, her cheek still sore.

“Echo,” Claire said slowly, trying to keep calm, and setting down the disinfectant to avoid actually dropping anything.  Her hands were shaking.  “How do you know that?”

How else would she know it, Echo wondered.  “I remember it.” 

Claire’s mind was racing.  Echo shouldn’t remember anything other than the Dollhouse while in Doll state.  That was the whole point of the wipings, to put them back in that  _ tabula rasa _ , the clean slate.  Dolls were supposed to be carefree, they shouldn’t  _ remember _ their engagements.  If Echo could withstand the wipings, if she could remember her past imprints... she’d be a scientific and neurological miracle.  Claire had always known Echo was special but this, she doubted  _ anyone _ would have expected this.

She should go to DeWitt with this.  She should leave Echo right here and find DeWitt and tell her.  She knew the Dollhouse had an impressive surveillance system, and even she didn’t know where all the cameras and microphones were hidden.  If DeWitt or Boyd or  _ anyone _ found out that she’d kept this information to herself, she’d be in big trouble.  

Claire walked to the doors, then paused, looking back at Echo, who was watching her curiously, waiting to see what she’d do. 

A little voice in the back of Claire’s mind whispered, really though, what’s the worst they could do?  They couldn’t fire her.  They could wipe her, turn her back into a Doll, but Claire had been living with that fear looming over her for months.  It was nothing new.  

They could send her to the Attic.  

Claire wondered what tortures the Attic could possibly hold that would be worse than her day to day existence right now. 

Plus, Claire was somewhat surprised to realize, she didn’t want DeWitt or Boyd to learn about this.  Not when she knew it would put Echo in danger.  

Claire took a deep breath, and pulled the doors of the clinic closed again.  She walked back over to the examination chair, pulling up a stool and sitting down next to Echo.  

“Echo,” Claire said slowly once more.  “You shouldn’t remember anything from your engagements.” 

Echo smiled.  She’d wondered if Dr. Saunders would leave to tell someone about her or if she’d stay.  Echo had hoped that she’d stay, and she had.  Echo didn’t quite know why yet, but she knew without a doubt that she trusted Claire Saunders.  “I remember everything,” she said simply.  “Sometimes I’m someone else.  And then I come back, but I-I still feel them.  All of them.” 

Claire was staring.  She’d never heard a Doll speak so intelligently before.  Echo was  _ aware _ of the fact that she was a Doll.  This shouldn’t happen, it  _ couldn’t _ happen, not based on every academic article ever written on the brain she’d ever read.  But here Echo was, sitting in front of her, disproving everything Claire had thought she’d known about Dolls. 

“Why are you telling me this?”  She asked.  

“You’re like me,” Echo said simply, as though the answer were obvious.  

Claire frowned, leaning back, “You mean I’m a Doll?” 

“No,” Echo shook her head.  “Not exactly.”  She didn’t know how to explain it, but she  _ knew _ that Whiskey--no, Dr. Saunders--was like her.  She shrugged apologetically, “You’re like me.”  

Claire pursed her lips.  The repetition didn’t exactly clarify Echo’s point.  But that nagging voice in the back of her mind tried to help.  “We’re the only ones who both know that we’re Dolls,” Claire said quietly.  

Echo wasn’t sure if that was the entire reason.  She didn’t know how to explain what she knew, just that she did, so she nodded.  

Claire’s mind was still trying to catch up with this revelation.  She needed to do something, she needed a distraction.  She stood up, “Well, Doll or no, I’m still a doctor, and your head looks like it’s going to need a few stitches.  Just to be safe.”  She grabbed a needle and thread from her nearby tray and sat back down.

As Dr. Saunders stitched her cut closed, Echo’s eyes landed on the suitcase still waiting by her desk.  “Why are you leaving?” She asked.

Claire froze for a second before continuing with the stitches.  She’d completely forgotten about her plans to leave.  “I-I don’t know,” she said honestly.  “I think I need to.  I can’t stay here, not knowing that DeWitt could order me wiped at any second, not knowing that Topher  _ made _ me.” She shuddered.  “I need to get out.  I’m running out of excuses,” she said quietly, repeating the words that she’d been writing as Echo had walked in.  She snipped the thread on the last of the stitches and went to go put her things away, “All done.”

Echo reached up, gently feeling the stitches.  “Isn’t running away just an excuse?” She asked.

Claire paused, “I-I’m not running away.”  She was.  She knew that she was the instant she tried to deny it.  She wanted to run far, far away from all of the things here that made her hurt, that reminded her what she was.  

Echo raised her eyebrows, clearly not believing her either.  

It was so strange to see a Doll be so expressive.  

Claire sighed, “Okay fine.  So I’m running away.  What else should I do?” 

Part of her couldn’t believe she was asking a Doll for advice.  

Then again, she’d already asked Topher and Boyd the same question.  Echo was definitely an improvement from both of them.

Echo thought for a moment.  “What are your excuses?”  She asked curiously.  

Dr. Saunders was clearly caught off guard by the question.  “Well, um,” she shrugged.  “I didn’t want to be here anymore.”  She looked down at her hands, “I don’t know who I am.”

Echo thought for a moment.  “I’ve been many people,” she said slowly.  “You have too.  But I can remember them.  I can hear them.  Sometimes suddenly, sometimes more quietly.  I’m all of them.  But none of them is me.” She looked up at Dr. Saunders, “Do you know who’s real?” 

Claire bit her lip, considering the question.  A few days ago, she would have answered immediately that any neither of them were real.  Now, seeing Echo, a wiped Doll with a personality, now she wasn’t so sure.  “No,” she said finally.  “I don’t know who’s real.”  

Echo nodded, she’d expected that.  “We could figure it out,” she offered.  “Together.” 

Claire shook her head, staring at her hands clasped tightly in her lap.  She didn’t want to get her hopes up, she told herself to dismiss the idea now, “How?” 

Echo hesitated, then reached out and put her hand on top of Claire’s.  The doctor looked up to meet her eyes.  “I don’t know,” Echo said truthfully.  “But I do know that we’ll stand a better chance if you stay here.”  She bit her lip.  “I don’t know exactly why, but I need you.  I won’t be able to do this,” she gestured vaguely at herself.  “Without you.” 

Claire looked at her, wondering how it was possible that her life had just gotten even more complicated.  She tried to take her time considering Echo’s offer, but deep down, she knew she’d decided the moment she’d closed the clinic doors.  She nodded. What did she really have to lose?  “Okay.” 

Echo smiled, pushing herself up from the chair.  “First things first, I need a new handler.”  She paused, looking at Claire for another moment, then lifted a hand to rest lightly on the other woman’s arm.  “Thank you.” 

Claire was so caught of guard that she couldn’t even think of anything to say in response and by the time she thought maybe she really should say something, Echo had already left, closing the clinic doors behind her, and leaving Claire alone once again.  

But, she realized as she shrugged put away the disinfectant and stitching materials, she didn’t  _ feel _ alone.  Not anymore.  She cast a quick glance through the windows, catching sight of Echo seated on one of the benches in the main area.  Paul Ballard approached her, a serious expression on his face.  

Claire raised her eyebrows.  She guessed Echo had found her new handler.  Something twisted unpleasantly in Claire’s stomach at the thought.  She shook her head.  Too much had just happened, she needed to process, she needed to think.  If she was really going to help Echo figure out their problems, she should do some research, look into more obscure studies that have been done on the brain, dig into Rossum’s databases to see if any other Actives have been acting this way.  

She looked down at her desk, where her half-written goodbye note still lay.  

Sighing, Claire picked it up and tore it to pieces, letting them fall like confetti from her hand to the trash.  She hung up her lab coat, grabbed her suitcase, and headed back into her room.  The research could wait.  First, she needed to unpack.

Claire Saunders wasn’t going anywhere. 


	2. Instinct

Paul ran his hand over the back of the chair.  This thing, this machine, that could take people and make them into something they weren’t.  He didn’t like it.  He didn’t understand it.  He wasn’t sure if he believed it, not completely.  But, if he was going to be working at the Dollhouse, if he was going to be working to  _ take down _ the Dollhouse, he figured he might as well try to get a sense of it.  

He glanced around.  He was alone.  Topher was nowhere to be seen.  Ivy had the day off.  Paul sat down in the imprint chair.  He wondered what it would be like to just lean back, let some light glow around his head, and suddenly not exist.  Would it be like dying?  Or more like going to sleep?

“Would you like a treatment?” 

Paul jumped at the sound of the cynical voice.  “I-uh-”  He pushed himself out of the chair and found himself face to face with Dr. Saunders, standing in the doorway, a folder held at her side.  She was eyeing him with a frown.  

“Topher really doesn’t like it when people mess with his chair,” she told him casually, walking past him and fiddling with something on the back of the chair.  Adjusting a dial here, a knob there, and basically messing with the chair. 

“I-I was just,” Paul stuttered.  

She stopped and looked at him, apparently interested in what excuse he was going to make up.

“Sitting,” Paul blurted out.  “Because-because I’m tired.” 

Dr. Saunders raised an eyebrow, “Clearly.”

“Who’s that I hear messing around in my office?”  Topher’s voice came from the hall that led back towards his bed.  “You’d better not be fiddling with anything.”  He suddenly appeared in the doorway, stopping short at the unexpected sight in front of him.  “Dr. Saunders,” he said, trying to lean casually against the doorframe, but missing it completely and nearly falling over.  “Hey...”

Dr. Saunders rolled her eyes and handed the folder to him.  “I need you to double check these forms before I go give Echo her checkup.  I want to make sure her medical history is as accurate as possible.”  

“But you’re her doctor,” Topher said, a little confused.  “You should already know her medical history.” 

“But I don’t know what history you gave the imprint,” Claire pointed out harshly.  “You never gave it to me.”  She paused for a second, then added, “Just so we don’t miss anything.” 

Paul wondered why Topher almost smiled as he took the folder from her.  “Fine.”  

“I’ll be in my office,” she told him shortly, turning and leaving without another word.  “Get that back to me as soon as you can.” 

Topher glared after her, then shrugged, “Guess it’s better than rats.” He flipped open the folder and began scanning through it.  “So, you off shift?” He asked Paul, not really looking up.

Paul nodded, “For a few hours.” 

Topher nodded, “The life of a handler is pretty exhausting.”  He smirked, setting the folder down and walking around to check his computers, “Better you than me.” 

“I can’t really seem to sleep though,” Paul admitted.  “It’s hard to imagine Echo being...” 

“Did you touch this?”  Topher snapped, looking at the chair where Dr. Saunders had been messing with it.

“I-I didn’t-” Paul stuttered.  

Topher sighed, adjusting the chair back to its standard settings, “It’s not a toy, Ballard.  Leave the tech to the grown ups, okay?”

Paul sighed. 

“So,” Topher said, apparently content with his teasing enough to change the subject.  “Echo.  It’s good, right?”

Paul thought for a moment.  “It’s different,” he admitted.  “Not the romance, the  _ other _ protocol.” 

Topher grinned, “I’m not gonna lie to you, I kind of blew my own mind this time.”  He chuckled.  “One special client request, one minor change to Echo’s bodily functions, and I just opened up a whole new world for us.” 

Paul couldn’t understand why anyone would let this mad scientist anywhere near people’s brains.  “This is all still new to me,” he said, keeping his voice even.  

Topher waved his words aside, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, but this...”  He reached over and grabbed an action figure off of a computer, pointing to it for emphasis.  “I wrote code for the brain... that changed the physical body.  And I’m not talking about muscle memory so somebody can play fancy piano. I made changes on a glandular level.  Do you have any idea what this could mean?”

Paul had no idea what this could mean. “Explain it to me.”

Topher did, eagerly.  “Well, arguably, one could program the brain to-to fight cancer.”  He laughed in awe at the idea.  “Or be telekinetic.”  He waved his arms around.  “Or not have that gag reflex when you eat sea urchin.  Or whatever.  The possibilities are pretty much endless, is what I’m saying.”  He paused, looking up at Paul proudly, “I don’t want to use the word ‘genius’ but I’d be okay if you wanted to.”  

Paul nodded slowly, trying to follow this explanation.  “So you could do all that to me, with this chair?”   He gestured once more to the chair.   

“Not to you, no,” Topher corrected him.  “To an Active.  I can’t fiddle with a mind until it’s wiped clean.  The human mind is like Van Halen.  If you just pull out one piece and keep replacing it, it just degenerates.”

Paul looked at him blankly.  “Yeah, I don’t understand.” 

Topher clapped him on the shoulder, “But it’s so cute that you’re trying.”  He glanced around, “Okay.  Good talk, huh?  Yeah!”  He turned back to his computers, “Say hi to Echo for me.  Tell her we’re all very proud.”

* * *

Emily carried her son down the stairs and into the kitchen, setting him down in the crib she’d had Nate set up by the counter.  “Okay, little man,” she told Jack, tapping his nose playfully.  “Mommy needs to mainline some caffeine.”  She tickled his stomach, “So you just chill there for one sec.” 

She grabbed the coffee pot and started filling it, calling out over her shoulder in the general direction of Nate’s office, “Babe, you want some coffee?”  When he didn’t respond, she set down the pot and walked over to his open office door.  “Nate, you in there?”  He never let her in his office.  This was the first time she’d seen the door open in weeks.  She took a step forward.

Nate suddenly appeared in the doorway, already dressed for work.

“Woah!” Emily shouted, startled at his sudden appearance.  She backed up, giving him a little space as he closed the door to his office.  “Good morning.  You’re up early,” she said as cheerily as she could, considering her heart was still racing.  “Everything alright?” 

She heard the lock to the office door click.

“Um, yeah, it’s fine,” Nate said without looking at her.  “I’m good.” 

Emily smiled a little wider, “Okay.  I said good morning.” 

He finally looked at her and she waited expectantly.  He hesitated, then planted a hurried kiss on her cheek.  

That would have to do, Emily reasoned.  She turned back towards the kitchen, “Jack and I are gonna go to the park today after his checkup,” she told her husband.  “We’re gonna feed the duckies.” 

Nate smiled a little, “That sounds fun.  You guys should do that.” 

Emily leaned a little closer, trying to drop her hint as loudly as possible, “You could play hooky and join us.”

He didn’t smile at that, “Yeah, uh, I don’t think so.” 

From his crib, Jack started crying.  

Emily gestured to him, “Oh could you grab him while I finish the coffee?”

Nate stood frozen like a deer in headlights.  “Uh, I don’t, um... Yeah.”

Emily sighed and went to pick up her son.  “Here,” she said, carrying Jack over to his father.  “You’re not gonna break him.  He’s not gonna bite you or spontaneously combust.”  She pushed Jack into Nate’s hands.  “You’ve got a master’s degree in finance, babe.  This should be a piece of cake.” 

Nate looked at the baby in his hands, “Okay, I’m sorry, I don’t, uh...  You know,”  Holding Jack like he was a live grenade, Nate crossed the kitchen and placed him back in the crib.  “I’m-I’m gonna be late for work.” 

“Nate wait,” Emily called after him as he practically sprinted to the door.  She caught up to him as he paused to lock the other door into his office.  “Will you be home for dinner?” She asked.  

He shook his head, “Nah, I’ve got that, uh, that Prentiss thing.  You shouldn’t wait up.  Bye.” 

Emily gave him a little wave, too late for him to really notice, and watched through the windows of the door as he entered his car and drove off.  As his car left their driveway, her gaze fell on a large black van parked right outside her house.  Emily stared at it, wondering what on earth it could be doing there.  It looked kind of sinister.

She glanced over at Nate’s office, now securely locked.  Why did he always need it locked?  What was he hiding in there?

Jack started crying again, snapping Emily out of her contemplation.  She went back to him, rocked him until he calmed down, then finally finished making her coffee.  Jack settled down playing with a teething toy long enough for her to finish an entire cup of it.  She was just pouring herself a second cup when she heard a clattering sound, and Jack started crying again.  

She sighed, setting down the coffee mug.  “There it is.”  She picked up Jack and started bouncing him as she knelt down to pick up the toy that he’d thrown over the edge of the crib.  Resting him on her hip, she placed the toy in the sink.  She’d have to clean that before he could play with it again, but he needed to calm down first.  She started singing to him again, his favorite song.

“Hush little baby, don’t say a word.  Mommy’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.”

Finally, his cries subsided to hiccups, and she was just thinking that maybe she could get him back to sleep, when the doorbell rang.  

Emily had forgotten completely about the doctor’s visit.  

“Look at you, Jack, you’ve made me a mess,” she cooed to him as she adjusted him in her arms and went to answer the door.  “Doctor Saunders, come on in.”  

“Hello Emily,” Claire Saunders said warmly as she stepped inside.  “Hello Jack.”  

Jack hiccupped.  

Emily smiled, “He likes you.”  

Dr. Saunders nodded, “And he likes you too.”

Emily scoffed, “Well he’d better.  I’m his mommy.  Isn’t that right, baby boy?”  She tickled his stomach again, prompting a squeal of laughter from her son that only made him hiccup again.  She looked up to see Dr. Saunders grimacing.  “Hey, are you okay?” 

Dr. Saunders took a deep breath, loosening her tight grip on the medical bag in her hand.  “Yes, I’m sorry.  I have problems with loud noises.”  

“Oh I’m sorry, I had no idea,” Emily told her immediately.  “I’ll try to keep him quiet for you.”

She shook her head, “You don’t have to.  Um, shall we get started?”  She gestured to the stairs.  

Emily nodded and led Dr. Saunders up to Jack’s room.  On her first house visit weeks ago, they’d decided this was the best place to hold these checkups.  Emily had tried to tell Nate that she could go see a doctor on her own, but he insisted that Dr. Saunders come here, and that she not only make sure Jack was healthy, but check up on Emily’s health too.

“Is Jack lethargic at all?  Has he been active?”  Dr. Saunders asked, listening to Jack’s heartbeat with a stethoscope.  

“Has he?” Emily laughed.  “Little scamp keeps me awake almost every night, and still has time to cry, poop, and vomit all over me.”  She chuckled, adding fondly, “He likes to laugh too.” 

Dr. Saunders nodded, marking something on the papers she’d brought with her.  “And how about you?  How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted, of course,” Emily replied immediately.  “Did you miss the part about how my son wakes me up every night?”  She shrugged, “But I’ve got coffee, and I love my little Jack.”  

Dr. Saunders finished her examination of Jack, then turned to Emily, “Your turn.”

“I don’t see why I have to be checked up, too,” Emily complained as Dr. Saunders started to take her blood pressure.  “I mean, it’s not like  _ I’m  _ the baby, I just  _ had  _ one.  You’ve been my doctor for years, shouldn’t you know if I’m about to be struck down with syphilis or something?”

“I’m afraid that’s not how being your doctor works,” Dr. Saunders said dryly.  Then she froze, some other part of Emily’s words clicking in her head.  She stopped pumping the pressure monitor, looking up at her.  “Emily, I’ve only been your doctor for less than a year.”

Emily looked at her, waiting for the punchline.  “What are you talking about?  I’ve known you for years, forever, it seems.” 

Dr. Saunders shook her head.  She looked concerned and maybe even... scared.   “You only started seeing me once you were pregnant with Jack, remember?”  There was almost a plea in her voice, like she  _ needed _ Emily to remember this specific order of events.  She nodded back to the folder of papers she’d been marking up, “It’s all in your file.” 

“I-”  Emily’s forehead furrowed.  Because now she  _ did _ remember it.  She remembered her first time meeting Dr. Saunders about a year ago, when she and Nate had gone in for her first prenatal examination.  “I’m sorry, Doctor Saunders.  You’re right, of course.  I must have gotten confused.  All these hormones, you know?  They’ll make a girl crazy.”  She laughed. 

Dr. Saunders looked at her for another moment, then went back to taking her blood pressure.  But Emily thought she heard her doctor muttering under her breath, “I hope not.” 

* * *

Claire finally got back to the Dollhouse an hour later and let out a sigh of relief the instant she was back in her clinic.  Before this engagement, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d left the Dollhouse.  Now, she’d been out twice in less than a month.  Part of her could barely believe she’d agreed to go along with this plan.  But someone needed to check up on Echo, and the specifications of Echo’s engagement didn’t allow for a quick return to the Dollhouse for a checkup, considering she was on baby watch 24/7.  So, house calls it was.  

She put her travel kit on a counter, grateful that she wouldn’t need to use it again for another week, then sat down at her desk.  She took ten seconds to collect herself.  Breathe in, five seconds, breathe out, five seconds.  That was all the time she gave herself.  

She needed to focus. 

Claire logged into her computer and pulled up the five papers she’d been reading through the day before.  Rossum employees couldn’t publicly publish their research, of course.  But there were private databases and studies that were shared internally that most employees with clinical or research assignments had access to.  Claire knew it was mostly to preserve funds so multiple facilities didn’t accidentally end up investing in the same research, but it also gave her access to everything the best minds at Rossum knew about the brain.  

And they knew a lot.  

Ever since her discussion with Echo a month(Claire could barely believe she’d been completely prepared to leave the Dollhouse only last month), Claire had been spending nearly all of her time reading these journals, trying to find even a scrap of evidence that might help her figure out what was happening to Echo.  

It was a fascinating, possibly even unique, occurrence, the resistance to wipes that Echo was experiencing, along with her instinct to hide this resistance from almost everyone around her.  Even though Echo had demonstrated that she  _ could _ remember some things about her previous engagements after she’d been wiped, and even that she understood the concepts of what was being done to her mind, these effects weren’t always consistent.  Some days, like the day she’d first shared her secret with Claire, Echo would seem almost completely lucid, but other days she’d revert back to the Doll State completely.  Claire wanted to know what factors were involved in these changes.  Her research had been hampered when Echo had been sent out on this long term assignment, but even though so far she hadn’t had any luck, she wasn’t discouraged.  

In fact, Claire felt... okay. 

Not good.  Of course not.  She doubted she could ever feel  _ good _ about anything again, not with what she knew about herself.  But ever since she’d agreed to help Echo figure out what was going on, Claire had felt calmer, less out of control.  She wasn’t spiralling anymore.  She hadn’t put more rodents in Topher’s office (though that didn’t mean she didn’t still despise him despite his overt attempts to be civil and almost friendly towards her).  Talking with Echo had given Claire a purpose.  She didn’t feel like she was nothing anymore.  Someone needed her.   _ Echo _ needed her, and Claire wasn’t going to let her down. 

And now, after this most recent checkup, she was even more worried for Echo.  Echo-or rather, Emily-had remembered something that had never happened.  She’d told Claire that Claire had been her doctor for years.  And though it was true that she’d been  _ Echo’s _ doctor for years, Emily shouldn’t remember that.  

Claire had been working on the assumption that Echo only remembered her imprints.  But now it seemed like her imprints were remembering Echo, too.  

“You busy?” 

Claire closed her browser immediately, looking up to see Boyd standing in the door to the clinic, a warm smile on his face.  

Claire’s toe tapped a little behind her desk.  Personally, she was busy, but she knew she should put Dollhouse needs above Echo’s right now, so of course she should be free to talk to the head of security.  “Of course,” She told him.  “Do you need something?” 

“Just wanted to check in,” Boyd shrugged  as he sat down in the chair on the other side of her desk.  “How’s Echo doing?  This is a new kind of assignment, after all.  Everyone’s interested.”  

“Yes, Topher’s very proud of his ‘accomplishment’,” Claire said disdainfully.

He definitely noticed her tone, “You don’t approve?”

She scoffed, “The human body is not some computer program that can be hacked and manipulated without consequence.  We’ve spent decades deciphering the way the mind controls the body but we don’t really completely understand the way the body can control the mind.”  She shook her head, “Topher’s playing with fire.” 

He nodded slowly, “Is that why you didn’t want Echo to take this engagement?  You didn’t want her to get burned?”

Claire bit her lip.  Of course he’d bring that up.  She took a deep breath, trying to fight down the memory of the panic she’d experienced when she’d realized what Topher was going to do to their one Active who doesn’t seem to walk away from wipes clean.  For Echo specifically, Claire had known that this imprint could have a long-lasting effect.  So, she’d suggested that Sierra take the engagement.  After all, Nate Jordan hadn’t requested a specific Active, just whoever DeWitt thought would “make the best mother.”  And Dewitt had decided that that was Echo.

Claire chose her words carefully.  “I thought that, considering the physical stress Echo’s been through lately, going on a long term engagement after experiencing a composite event, that having Topher experiment with her body chemistry might not be the best idea.” 

“But DeWitt didn’t agree?”  He asked. 

Claire frowned.  Since he knew Echo was on the engagement, he knew that her suggestion had been ignored.  Why was he asking her something he already knew the answer to?  “Apparently Topher’s argument that he knew Echo better, since she’d been here longer, won out over my concerns,” she admitted.  

“So how’s Echo doing?”  Boyd asked, sounding concerned himself.  “Is she okay?”

“She’s perfectly healthy.”  Aside from a glitched memory today, Claire thought to herself, but she wasn’t going to share that particular detail.  “And the baby is healthy too.”

“Good, good,” he said idly.  “So,” he leaned forward a bit. “I was wondering if you’d considered my offer.”

Claire tilted her head a bit, not understanding him, “Your offer?” 

“To have dinner with me,” he clarified, smiling widely.  

Claire’s stomach clenched.  Oh,  _ that _ offer.  She’d hoped he’d accepted her disinterest with the last offer, and that he’d never bring it up again.  Apparently she wasn’t going to be so lucky.  

“I know, I know,” he said before she could respond.  “You don’t like people, or crowds, or the outdoors, but hear me out.  I know a place that’s got the best steak in town.  A friend of mine knows the owner and he can get us a table that’s private.  No one but us.  What do you say?” 

What did she say?  Claire shuddered at the thought of it.  She could tolerate Boyd’s presence and overbearing nature when it was confined to their shared work environment, but some instinct in the back of her mind did not like the idea of being alone with him.  

She didn’t know why Boyd was so interested in her, but she did not appreciate his advances.  But, according to him, he was the only thing standing between herself and Adelle DeWitt’s decision to restore her as an Active.  Claire didn’t know how long it would be until DeWitt made that decision, but if she could keep Boyd on her side until then, she’d try to.  

But that didn’t mean she was going to go to dinner with him. 

“I can’t, Boyd,” she told him, trying to sound more apologetic than she felt.  “I was just outside, to check up on Echo, and I’m completely exhausted.  Plus, Ms. DeWitt is supposed to be bringing in November-um, Madeline Costley-in, for a diagnostic and I need to be here to check her over.”

He nodded, apparently convinced that her excuse was real enough.  “Some other time, then,” he said, standing up.

Claire made sure that her response of “Hm,” was extremely noncommittal.  She waited until after he’d left the clinic completely before releasing the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.  She’d postponed that problem, at the very least.  And now she could turn her attention back to Echo.  

* * *

 

_ “I tried to talk them out of it, but I couldn’t.”  _

_ Emily was having another checkup with Dr. Saunders.  She wasn’t at home though.  She was somewhere else.  A clinic of some sort, maybe.  Through the windows she could see a room that looked like it belonged more in a spa than a hospital.  Emily couldn’t remember how she’d gotten here but she wasn’t worried.  She knew Dr. Saunders was safe.   _

_ Dr. Saunders was pacing a very small path next to the examination chair that Emily was sitting on.  She had one arm crossed in front of her chest, her other hand reaching up to her forehead. “They’re going to do it, DeWitt is actually going to let Topher try his crazy experiment on you, of all the Dolls in this house.”  She sighed and stopped at Emily’s side, “Echo, he’s going to make you a mother.”  _

_ Internally, Emily was confused.  She already was a mother.  How could anyone make her one now?  Instead of voicing this question, though, she heard herself ask, “What is a mother?”  _

_ Dr. Saunders paused, apparently caught off guard by the question.  Then she nodded, like she should have expected as much and said slowly.  “A-a mother is someone who cares for you, who protects you.  Babies need their mothers, that much has been proven.  Mothers raise you, teach you things, and they love you, so much.  Not just emotionally, but biologically.  When you become a mother, your maternal instinct is triggered, pushing you to care for your baby more than anything else, even yourself.”  She paused, looking at Emily’s face to see if she was following this explanation.  Then she sighed, looking around, “It’s-um, it’s kind of like a voice in your head that’s never quiet, always telling you to protect your baby.”  _

_ Emily felt herself smile vaguely, “I’ve had lots of voices in my head.” _

_ Dr. Saunders didn’t smile back.  She just looked worried, “Not one like this.  If this voice takes over, it could make you dangerous.” _

Emily snapped awake. 

She was laying in her bed.  It was still dark out.  But for the first time that she could remember, Jack’s crying hadn’t woken her up.  Her internal clock must be such a disaster that she’d woken up on her own.  

Or, maybe it was that dream she’d been having.  A really weird one.  Dr. Saunders was in it.  

Emily tried to focus on the dream, but the more she tried, the more the details eluded her.  She felt like it had been important.  Like a memory or something.  Only Emily couldn’t remember actually  _ being _ in that clinic before.  

She rolled over, wondering if maybe she should wake Nate and see what he thought about it.  But Nate wasn’t in bed next to her.  She smiled, he really was watching after Jack tonight.  Maybe Kelly was right, and he was just taking some time to warm up to the whole being a dad thing.  She grimaced as the thought just made her feel that much worse about her crazy confrontation with him earlier that evening.  

How was she supposed to known he’d been in love before, if he’d never told her?

She shifted in bed, determined to let her husband be a dad and handle their son while she got some more much deserved sleep.

Then she heard a voice coming from down the hall.

It was muffled, but she was pretty sure it was Nate.  He sounded agitated, angry even.  

Maybe he was on a work call?  She couldn’t remember him ever taking a call so late but he had been stressing about work lately.  Maybe his coworkers were just as pressed for time.  Well if that was the case, he could go handle it and she could watch Jack, at least for a few hours.  

Emily pulled herself out of bed and started down the hall.  

As she approached Jack’s room, Nate’s words became clearer.  “This is a disaster.” 

Emily frowned, peering into Jack’s room through the barely opened door.  

Nate was standing near the crib, phone pressed to his ear, shifting his weight between his feet the way he does when he’s annoyed.  “You people promised me something that you cannot deliver,” he was saying, pointing aggressively even though no one could see him.  “This is not working.  I’m calling it off.”  

Emily’s breathing was coming quicker now.  She’d never heard Nate talk like this.  

“Get rid of her.”

Emily fought down a gasp.  He couldn’t mean  _ her _ , as in his own wife, could he?

Nate leaned over the crib to look at their sleeping son.  “I’ll get rid of the baby.” 

This time Emily couldn’t control herself.  “No,” she gasped, quickly pulling away from the door in case he’d heard her.  Her mind was racing.  She didn’t understand it, Nate had never been even remotely violent in all the years she’d known him, and now he wanted not only her dead but Jack too?  

She shook her head, she didn’t  _ need _ to understand it.  Nate was going to hurt Jack, and she could not let that happen.  

The voice in the back of her head was screaming.  Emily didn’t know how yet, but she knew what she was going to do.  Like any good mother, she was going to protect her baby no matter what she had to do. 

* * *

 

Claire was doing her best not to start pacing around her office.  She did take a lap, checking on her medical equipment, making sure everything was in order.  She was itching to get back to her research.  She’d found a very promising paper from Bennett Halverson that was an in-depth study of the few known cases of Dolls glitching throughout all of Rossum’s Dollhouses.  So far the first three cases hadn’t helped her at all (they were the side effect of lazy imprint programming, not anything to do with the Dolls’ physiology) but Claire wanted to get back to reading as soon as possible. 

But as soon as possible was going to be a while, she reminded herself for what felt like the hundredth time.  Claire made her way across the clinic and leaned against the open doorway, looking up towards Topher’s office where different colored lights could be seen reflecting off the windows.  Madeline Costley, after being released from the Dollhouse early due to Paul Ballard’s guilt of having slept with a Doll, had avoided coming back for a diagnostic check up for so long that Adelle DeWitt herself had gone to bring her in.  Topher should be just finishing up his part of Madeline’s diagnostic, making sure she wasn’t mentally glitching.  Then she’d be sent down to the clinic so Claire could look her over and make sure there were no physical side effects manifesting.  

The odds of Claire finding anything unusual were incredibly low, but this was still new technology they were working with and it was always possible that someone could have adverse side effects that could be prevented in the future.  So, Rossum guidelines mandated that physical examinations accompany all post-Dollhouse diagnostic visits.  

The light in Topher’s office finally changed back to normal.  Claire turned back to the nearest tray of medical equipment and made sure that everything was there and organized, knowing that Madeline would be coming down any minute.  

Then she heard the shouting.  

Immediately, Claire went back to the doorway, wondering if maybe something had gone wrong with the diagnostic after all.  The shouts were growing louder, and though most of them were muffled by the walls of the office, Claire could just make out “-MY SON!” 

Her heart stopped.  “Echo.” 

Without thinking, Claire raced to the stairs.  

She reached the second floor walkway just as Echo burst through the door from the imprint room.  A few Dollhouse security workers had responded first and were standing between Claire and Echo, walking slowly and calmly towards the hysterical Doll.  

“No,” Echo said, looking like a cornered animal.  “No! No! No!”  One of them grabbed her feet, the other held around her shoulders.  But Echo was still struggling even as the pulled her feet out from under her, “Let me go! Let me go!  No-!” 

Her eyes, looking wildly around for someone to help her, landed on Claire, who was taking a couple hesitant steps, unsure of whether to insert herself in the violence.  

Claire froze like a deer in headlights when she saw the shock and surprise clear in Echo’s face as she recognized the doctor.  Then something unexpected happened.  Echo stopped fighting.  She went limp in their arms, just a few moments  _ before _ the security officers injected her with a tranquilizer.  

Topher ran out of his office, his eyes flicking to the tranquilizer needle still in Echo’s arm.  “You knocked her out?”  He said, almost exasperated.  “No, I can’t wipe her when she’s knocked out.”  He pointed to his head, “Think.”  He sighed, “Okay, just come on.”  He gestured back towards his office, “Put her in the chair, I’ll wipe her when she wakes up.  Whenever that is.” 

The two guards lifted Echo up and carried her off, leaving Claire, Topher, and Ballard standing together on the landing.  Topher looked at her, “Dr. Saunders, what are you doing here?” 

Claire raised her eyebrows, “I heard shouting.  I wanted to make sure you weren’t doing some kind of experiment on Ms. Costley while she’s here for her diagnostic.”

Topher scoffed and fumbled for words in a way that told Claire he’d been considering doing exactly that with their patient, but Ballard’s eyes went wide.  He raced back to the office and emerged a few seconds later supporting Madeline on his shoulder.  She was holding her hand to her head and Claire could see blood dripping down her face.  

“She’s hurt,” Ballard said, unnecessarily.

Claire fought back the urge to sigh.  She wanted to check on Echo, but she knew it would be pointless.  That tranquilizer would keep her unconscious for a few hours, at least.  “I needed to give her a physical anyways,” she told him as she headed back towards the stairs.  “Might as well add a few stitches in.”

Ballard followed after her, helping Madeline onto the examination chair as Claire pulled out her stitching supplies (and tried not to think about how the life changing conversation she’d had the last time she’d given an Active stitches).  But even as Claire started cleaning the cut on Madeline’s face, Ballard remained, standing barely two steps behind her as she worked.

“You okay?” He asked.

Claire clenched her jaw as she had to pause her work while Madeline nodded (sewing someone’s injury closed was hard enough without them moving their head and having a conversation).  “I think so.  My head hurts, but I guess that’s what happens when you’re violently shoved into a wall.”

Claire frowned,  “I should probably check you for a concussion, Ms. Costley.”

But the woman shook her head again, “I’m fine, really.  And please, call me Madeline.”

Instead of waiting for Claire to finish her work, Ballard continued talking.  “Just to be clear, nobody took anybody’s baby.”

_ Tell that to Echo, _ Claire thought harshly.  

“She’s an Active, just like you used to be,” Paul explained to Madeline, clearly worried that her view of him might be tarnished in some way by this encounter.  Claire smirked.  Of course he cared what she thought.  “It was all pretend.” 

“Ow!” Madeline winced as Claire pushed the needle in a little harder and lower than she necessarily should have.

“Sorry,” Claire said automatically, but internally she was fuming.  Pretend? Did he have any idea what actually went on in an Active’s mind while they were imprinted?  Did he know how real it all felt?  It’s not pretend, none of it.  Actives live and breathe their imprints, they believe everything about the person they become.  That’s why people pay such good money for them.

That’s what made Claire such a good doctor. 

He had no idea what he was talking about.  

“You’re all done,” Claire said perhaps a little harshly, cutting the thread from her needle.  “But while I have you here I do need to do a quick physical examination.”

Madeline shrugged, “Whatever you have to do.”  Then she turned back to Ballard, “Is it always like that?” 

“Like what?” He asked as Claire listened to Madeline’s heartbeat.  It was a little fast, but that was understandable.  

“She really believed someone took her child,” Madeline said simply.  “Heart and soul.” 

“Breathe in,” Claire said, her stethoscope on Madeline’s back, listening to her breathing.

Ballard shook his head, “Like I said, it wasn’t real.”

“And breathe out,” Claire instructed, taking a few calming deep breaths of her own.  

“But it was, for her,” Madeline argued.

Claire fought down a smirk.  Maybe this woman could make Ballard see that the world wasn’t quite so clear cut as he’d like to think it was.  She doubted it.  

Madeline continued as Claire checked her reflexes.  “All that emotion, all that pain,” she thought for a moment.  “Was I ever like that?”

Claire raised her eyebrows.  She knew the details of what engagements the Actives went out on.  She’d given Madeline--or, back then, November--a thorough examination after she’d slept with Ballard as Mellie.  

Paul coughed, “You know, I’m kind of new here.  I wouldn’t really know.” 

“You’ve got a clean bill of health, Ms. Costley-um, Madeline,” Claire told her, with a somewhat forced smile.  

Madeline smiled at her, “Good to know.  And thank you, for the stitches.”  Then she turned back to Ballard, leaning forward to take his hand in hers.  “She’ll be okay,” she told him.

Ballard looked like he was about to have a panic attack, “Who?”

“The girl,” Madeline said, as though it was obvious.  “You seemed worried for her.  She’ll forget about the baby.  She’ll forget everything.”  She smiled, “No more pain.  No more grief.”

Ballard looked at her, disbelieving.  “That’s how it works.” 

Madeline nodded, standing up and pulling her coat back on.  “They did it for me.  I had a daughter.  She died.  She had a cold.  And then it wasn’t a cold.  It was cancer.  Terminal.  And my world fell apart.  Within six months, she was gone, and I was left all alone, completely unable to function.”

Ballard shook his head again, “I had no idea.” 

“How could you?” Madeline asked.  “But what I’m telling you is, it all worked out.  I met Adelle.”

Claire really just wanted them to leave her clinic.  Couldn’t they have this moving and emotional conversation somewhere else so she could go check on Echo, or at least get back to her research?  She didn’t want to hear about DeWitt’s recruitment techniques.  She didn’t want to think about how the original owner of her body might have been enticed to join the Dollhouse.  

But Ballard appeared to be quite interested in this story.  “She came to you?” 

“She told me I didn’t have to suffer anymore,” Madeline told him.  “I go to sleep for five years, I wake up without pain.”

Claire tried not to think about what her original personality might have been hoping to wake up without.  

“So...” Ballard said slowly.  “What, you-you’re happy now?”

Madeline smiled, but a small smile.  “I’m not sad.”  She finally pulled her coat over her shoulders.  “It was nice meeting you,” she told him.  “And thank you again for the stitches,” she said to Claire.  Then she left, wandering out of the clinic and walking right into Boyd, who gestured towards the doors.  Apparently the head of security himself was going to be taking Madeline home. 

Good, Claire thought to herself.  That’ll keep him from coming into the clinic with another round of dinner plans.  

She turned, pleased that she could finally get some peace and quiet.  

But Ballard was still in her clinic.  

He hadn’t moved an inch.  He was just, standing there, shellshocked, like his entire worldview had been altered.  

“You know, if you keep standing like that, someone’s going to think you’re a Doll,” Claire told him, as she sat back down at her desk and pulled a stack of folders  out of her desk.  These were folders on the next round of Doll’s imprints that would be going out tomorrow.  “Not that it would matter, since everything that happens to Dolls is pretend, right?”  Before he could respond she opened up Victor’s folder for his imprint named Richard Calcifer and started reading, “Now if you’ll please leave my clinic, Mr. Ballard, I have work to do.” 

* * *

 

Emily woke up to a splitting headache, and a pain in her arm.  She groaned and opened her eyes.  She was sitting in some fancy chair in that office those men in suits had taken her to after dragging her away from the police station, and-

“Jack!”  She started to sit up.

“Woah woah woah, easy there.”  A man suddenly walked into her field of vision, having apparently been standing somewhere off to her side.  He held up his hands in a calming gesture, as though he wanted to push her back into the chair but didn’t want to actually force her down himself.  “Easy, okay?”

Emily took a deep breath, not sure she believed him, but at least someone was talking to her again, instead of injecting her with something and taking away her son.  “You seem like a nice man,” she told him, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice.   “Please help me.”  She reached out, taking one of his hands in hers.  “They’re going to do something terrible to my little boy.” 

He held her hand in both of hers for a second, saying, “I am a nice man.  You’re going to be just fine.  I promise.  I’m going to make all of this go away.”  

Emily felt her shoulders go slack in relief, “So you’ll help me?”

He nodded, then let go of her hand, taking a few steps away from her and pressing some buttons on a nearby keyboard.  She felt the chair lean back as it started making loud whirring noises.  A bright blue light glowed around her head and arms, and slowly all of Emily Jordan’s memories were wiped clean away.  

Echo didn’t move as the chair moved beneath her, sitting her upright once again.  There was something wrong in her.  She didn’t know what, but she knew she had to do something.  If only she could remember what it was.  

Topher was standing beside the chair like always.  “Hello Echo,” he said calmly.  “How are you feeling?”

Echo was trying to think, trying to remember.  Whatever that something was, it was important.  The most important thing in her life.  “Did I fall asleep?”  She asked. 

Topher nodded, “For a little while.”

A voice in the back of Echo’s mind suddenly screamed, and she remembered what it was she needed to protect.  Her hand shot out almost without her thinking about it, punching Topher in the nose, and sending him collapsing to the floor.  

Echo stood up, looking at him as blood started to leak from his nose to the carpet.  “Shall I go now?”  She waited for a response but he didn’t say anything.  And the voice in the back of her mind was still shouting at her to leave and find her son.  

Echo stumbled slightly as she walked towards the elevator.  She pushed the button, remembering from somewhere that that would make the doors close, and then when they opened again, she’d be somewhere else.  

The doors opened.  Echo made her way through the hallways until she opened a door to the garage.  Those black things, the cars, they took her places.  She walked over to one, and opened the door, sitting down inside.  

She waited for a few moments, just sitting, then frowned.  Maybe there was something she had to say to make it go?  

“Um, go please?” She asked.

Nothing happened.  

She looked over at the seat beside her.  There was a circly thing in front of that seat.  Echo wondered if that’s how you make it go.  

She shifted over to that seat and found that her hands automatically reached up and grabbed some small metal things behind the big circle, turning them.  The car made a loud noise and suddenly all the lights and gauges in front of her lit up.  Echo’s hands moved from the keys to a weird handle, shifting it to a certain position, and then to the circle as her feet seemed to press pedals on their own.  

The car was moving.

She smiled.  

She was going to get her son back.  

* * *

 

“What, precisely, was the last thing she said to you?”  Adelle DeWitt demanded, bursting into her office as Topher, Ballard, and Claire filed in after her.  

Topher was dabbing at his rapidly bruising nose with some paper towel.  “I’m telling you,” he said, still sounding dazed.  “I remember wiping her, and then my face exploded.”  He picked up some ice from DeWitt’s drink bar and held it to his nose, “That’s it.” 

“That can’t be it,” Claire snapped at him.  “Because she’s gone now.”

“Gee you think I didn’t notice that when I woke up from having my face smashed in?”  Topher asked her.  “Let’s not forget that if I hadn’t sounded the alarm, you all still wouldn’t know that Echo had gone rogue.”  

Claire clenched her jaw to keep herself from arguing with him.  Echo wasn’t “going rogue.” She was still acting like a mother.  She just had to figure out a way to get them to see this without revealing to anyone that Echo’s wipes weren’t as permanent as they should be.  

“I think we’ll have plenty of time to parse out blame later,” DeWitt said smoothly.  She was already seated at her computer, pulling up Echo’s tracking beacon.  “But first we need to find Echo.  Now, where is she going?”  She asked quietly, typing quickly.  “GPS has her heading to-”

“Nate Jordan’s house,” Ballard interrupted her, coming to stand next to her to view the map.  “She’s going after the baby.” 

Claire wanted to punch him.  She’d forgotten that he’d be aware of Echo’s resistance to wipes too.  Of course he’d already figured out where Echo was going.  And he wasn’t being subtle at all about sharing.

DeWitt looked over at him, “How can that be?”  She turned back to Topher, “You were supposed to have wiped her!” 

Topher waved his free arm about, “I did!  I’m sure of it.” 

DeWitt wasn’t convinced, “Are we looking at another composite event, Mr. Brink?” 

Claire’s stomach tightened uncomfortably.  If they thought that Echo had composited again, if there was even a slight chance that she’d turn into another Alpha... they wouldn’t hesitate to put her down, or at least stuff her in the Attic.  

“I don’t think so,” Ballard said, his voice low and even.  “I think we’re looking at a genius.”

Topher tilted his head to one side, “I’m not as comfy with you saying that as I thought I’d be.” 

Claire, too, wondered where he was going with this.  

“Think about it,” Ballard continued.  “You changed her on a glandular level.  Maybe her body was stronger than her brain.”

Topher looked at him, the wad of paper towels stuffed under his nose again, “But she still shouldn’t remember  _ where _ her baby is.”  

She would if she was already resistant to wipings, Claire realized.  

“Topher is right, Mr. Ballard,” DeWitt said tersely.  “I’m afraid even if the glandular changes were more overpowering than we anticipated, Echo still wouldn’t have known to run away.”  

“If that maternal instinct was still there, then she’d probably have just been overprotective of the first person she’d seen after waking up,” Topher said, gesturing to himself.  “Which is clearly not the case.  Good thought, Ballard, but maybe leave the science to the big kids.” 

Claire’s mind was racing.  She knew why Echo was still able to focus on the baby, but she couldn’t tell them that reason.  And she had to say something before Ballard said something stupid that would lead them to figuring out the actual reason and blowing Echo’s secret for good.  She turned to Topher, “Did you account for the changes in brain chemistry that would have happened when you wiped her?” 

Topher scoffed condescendingly.  “Did I account for the brain chemistry,” he repeated.  “My whole life is brain chemistry-”

Claire continued talking over him.  “Specifically did you could for the higher level of Epinephrine and Norepinephrine resulting from having her baby taken from her?  You’re used to wiping calm Actives, and Echo definitely was not calm.  Higher levels of those neurotransmitters in her brain could have altered the overall effectiveness of the wipe, leaving behind enough residual memories for her to piece together a location of the child she believes is her son, even if she might not even remember his name anymore.”

Topher’s eyes lit up as he made the connection.  “Yeah,” he said slowly.  “Yeah, yeah!”  He was talking with both hands now, excited by the idea that Ballard and Claire had suggested.  “I’ve wiped scared Actives before, but this, this was more than just scared.  The Maternal Instinct is the purest.  It’s too strong for a normal wipe.”  He chuckled, “I outplayed  _ myself _ .  Like in chess.” 

“Not like chess,” Ballard corrected him.  “Like Echo is in pain and in trouble because you didn’t think it through.”

“Well good thing it’s all pretend then, isn’t it, Mr. Ballard,” Claire shot back at him before she could stop herself.  She turned to DeWitt, “I’ve seen Echo with that baby in the normal imprint.  She gets anxious if she leaves him alone in a room for a few seconds.  I can’t imagine how much that fear will be amplified by her lack of memories.  If she wants to keep him safe, she’s going to want to get him back, no matter what.”

Topher was still nodding slowly, “Perhaps triggering lactation was a bridge too far.”  He shrugged, “Live and learn.”

Claire was annoyed that Echo had beaten her to punching Topher in the nose. 

DeWitt turned to Ballard, “Go, now.” 

He turned and half jogged out of the office.  

DeWitt was picking up her phone, “I need to call Nate Jordan and tell him to get himself and his son to safety.”

Topher and Claire both nodded at the implied order to leave the office.  As they turned to leave, Claire cringed at the haphazard way that Topher was still dabbing at his crooked and purple nose.  She rolled her eyes, nodding towards the elevator, “Come on, I need to go set that nose for you before it heals wrong.”

Topher looked at her, taken aback.  “You want to help me?”

She grinned at him just a little too charmingly, “Setting it will probably hurt worse than the actual initial hit.”  The tapped him lightly on the nose, making him wince.  “This is going to be fun.” 

* * *

 

Echo wasn’t sure how she found her way to the house.  She didn’t know how she knew to sneak around to the backyard, and peer in through the windows to see a man in the kitchen.  She didn’t understand why seeing that man downstairs meant it was safe to climb up to the second floor and take the baby from his crib.  She had no idea why she went into the kitchen to grab the biggest knife she could find, clutching it in one hand and cradling the baby in the other.

But Echo did all of these things, listening to that voice inside her as it told her the best way to protect herself and her son.  And when the man raced back downstairs, frantically shouting a name that Echo thought might be the name of the little baby boy in her hands, Echo found that she wanted to reassure him that everything was going to be alright.  

“Don’t worry,” she told him, her words making the man freeze then turn around to face her.  She smiled down at the baby resting against her hip.  “Mommy’s home.” 

Lightning flashed through the windows.

“Please,” he said.  Nate, she remembered suddenly.  That was his name, Nate.  Echo could barely hear him over the roll of thunder.  “Don’t hurt him.”

Echo adjusted her grip on the knife.  “You took away my baby.”  She took a step towards him.  “Why did you do that?”

“I-I’m sorry,” Nate stuttered.  “Can-Can I please have him back?” 

“I love him,” Echo said firmly.  “I don’t want to give him to you.” 

Echo could only see half of his face in the unlit house, but the eye she could see was wide open.  “I’m his daddy,” he told her desperately.  

“But this is my baby,” Echo insisted.  She held him closer, adjusting the blanket around him with her hand that was holding the knife.  

Nate kept talking, his voice wavering.  “I know that you think that he is...” he took a tentative step towards her.

The voice in Echo’s head didn’t like that.  She pointed the knife at him, “I want you to go away now.”  She waved the knife so that it was pointing at the door, a clear invitation for him to leave her alone with her baby.  

Lightning flashed again.

“I can’t do that,” Nate said slowly, keeping his hands raised so she could see them.  

In her hands, the baby started to cry.  Echo frowned, adjusting the blanket again, careful to keep the knife from actually touching him.  “Babies need their mothers,” she said softly, rocking him back and forth to calm him down.  

Lightning flashed and thunder crashed and Echo closed her eyes as she  _ remembered _ those words.  Someone had told her that before...

“I know,” Nate told her calmingly.  “I know.  But...” He paused, as if thinking over his words carefully.  “But you aren’t his mother.” 

“That’s a lie!” Echo shouted, pointing the knife at him again.  He took a couple steps back but she kept moving towards him.  “I don’t want to talk to you anymore!”

_ A mother is someone who cares for you, who protects you.   _ Someone had told her this.  Someone she trusted.  Echo was a mother.  She wanted to protect this baby.  

Nate was backed up against the wall but he kept talking, “I know that you love Jack very much,” he took a deep breath.  “But he doesn’t belong to you.  And I am afraid that you’re going to hurt him.” 

Another crack of lightning illuminated his whole face and Echo could see how scared he was.  

Echo swiped at him with the knife, and he backed up even more, moving along the wall away from her.  She moved closer, holding her knife pointed at him.  This was her son.  They’d taken her son away from her.

She was a mother.  

No, wait.  

They’d  _ made _ her a mother.  

She blinked again in the bright light of the storm outside, trying to think over the voice in the back of her mind.  Wait, she knew what that voice was.  What had she called it?

Maternal instinct.  

_ It’s-um, it’s kind of like a voice in your head that’s never quiet, always telling you to protect your baby. _

Echo took a step back.  Her hand that was holding the knife was trembling.  “That’s not me.”

_ If this voice takes over, it could make you dangerous.   _

She shook her head, lowering the knife a little.  “That’s not me.” 

“Okay,” Nate didn’t move.  He was panting heavily.  He tilted his head, “Do you remember?” 

Echo looked down at the baby in her hand.  Did she remember?  She remembered something.  Someone important to her had warned her about this.  

“They turned you into somebody else,” Nate continued.  

They do that, Echo thought to herself.  She’d told someone about that.  

“Y-you’re not real,” Nate’s words sounded like an apology.  “None of this is real.” 

Echo frowned.  “I’m not real.”  She wasn’t real?  This wasn’t real?  Then what was this?

What was she?

“Where’s Whiskey?”  She looked around.  Whiskey would know what was real.  She could help her.  But Whiskey was nowhere to be seen.  She turned back to Nate, “Do you know who is real?” 

“No,” Nate said, his eyes tearing up.  “I don’t.  And I’m sorry.  This is my fault.  I put you through hell.”  He took a deep breath.  “They made you love Jack because I asked them too.”  

Whiskey-no-Dr. Saunders would be mad at them, Echo thought.  She hadn’t liked their plan.  

More thunder rumbled.  

“Why did you do that?”  She asked.  

“My wife, Karen,” Nate swallowed hard.  “She died while having Jack.  And I couldn’t handle it, and I fell apart, and I blamed him.”  He scoffed, “I-I blamed a baby.  Do you believe that?”  His voice cracked, “And after she died, I needed to find someone who would love Jack because I couldn’t do it myself.”

Echo felt tears stinging in her own eyes.  She was sad for this man, who had lost his wife, the woman who would have loved this baby as much as she did.  She felt sorry for him and that he couldn’t feel that love himself for the little boy she held in her arms.  “So, can I be his mommy?”  She asked hopefully.

“No,” Nate told her sadly.  “I’m sorry.  You can’t.  Karen is a part of Jack.  You aren’t.  And he’s all that I have of her anymore.  So... you...” He sighed.  “You-you can do whatever you want to me-”

Echo’s head was hurting again.  There were too many voices in there, trying to tell her what to do.  She held the baby closer to her, allowing the sharp end of the knife to graze along the blanket around Jack.  

“Just p-” Nate begged her.  “Just please don’t hurt the baby.” 

Lightning crashed outside the house, and Echo wondered if it would hurt less if the bolt had hit her.  She felt like she was being torn apart.  She knew what she needed to do but that voice, that instinct that they’d forced her to have was fighting against it.  

She looked down at the beautiful baby in her arms.  “My little boy.”  He was smiling and playing with the edges of the blanket.  Echo smiled.  She loved this boy so much.  She was his mother.  She’d do anything for him.  And now she was going to do the most painful thing a mother could possibly do.  

She was going to walk away.

Because she wasn’t his mother.  They’d made her think she was his mother, but she wasn’t.  

That wasn’t real.  

She heard the front door opening behind her, but she didn’t trust herself to see who had come in.  If she saw the people she thought were there, she might not have the nerve to do what she needed to do.  Taking slow, careful steps, she walked towards Nate.  She hesitated one last time then held out the baby for him to take.  

He did, taking Jack in his arms and immediately started rocking him back and forth.  

Echo nodded slightly as the baby cooed in his father’s arms.  Then she forced herself to turn and leave.  She dropped the knife, letting it clatter to the ground.  She didn’t look back, she  _ couldn’t _ look back.  Instead she walked through the small group of men crowded around the door and outside.  

She held herself tightly, surprised to see that the rain had subsided.  She let her feet carry her wherever they wanted to go, knowing that eventually someone would come collect her.  She stopped and sat down on a bench in a park that she felt like she should remember, but she didn’t.  She sat, and waited, a grieving mother mourning the loss of a son that had never been hers to love.

* * *

 

Claire was not pacing.  She wasn’t.  

She was... energetically circling her clinic, organizing everything in sight.  Repeatedly.  And if she happened to be glancing through the doors up to Topher’s office and the imprint room on every lap, could anyone really blame her?

After DeWitt had dismissed them, she’d brought Topher down here and set his nose properly.  Feeling the snap of the cartilage moving back into place, along with Topher’s agonized scream in response to the accompanying pain, had improved her mood immensely.  

But now more than two hours had passed since Ballard had been sent to retrieve Echo, and that kind of operation time worried Claire.  Even factoring in the drive to and from Nate Jordan’s house, she knew that if everything had gone well, Ballard should be back by now, with Echo in tow. 

“She’ll be okay, you know.”  

The sudden voice behind her startled Claire so much that she knocked the tray of medical equipment she was organizing, sending everything crashing to the floor.  She immediately knelt down to pick it all up, and found that Boyd had crossed the clinic floor to help her.  

“Sorry,” he told her, handing her a scalpel and some tweezers.  “I forgot that noises can startle you.”   

Claire wondered if she should believe him, as she seemed to remember him startling her every time he entered her clinic.  “I guess I’m just a little on edge,” she admitted.  

“You know, Echo’s not like Alpha,” he told her comfortingly, not noticing how just mentioning the name was enough to make Claire wince.  “She’s not going to turn on you.”

Claire raised her eyebrows.  That’s what he thought she was worried about?  That Echo’s violent outburst due to Topher’s incompetent screw up was the same as Alpha viciously attacking her own face?  Claire smiled, “I’m well aware of the causes of Echo’s incident.  None of us have any reason to believe she’s a second Alpha.”  Claire hated how saying his name sent a shudder down her spine.  

Boyd smiled as they finished gathering the medical supplies and stood up.  “Echo’s strong.  She’ll make it through this.  

Claire nodded, he was definitely right about that.  “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“Really?” He raised his eyebrows, taking half a step toward her.  “What are you worried about, then?”

Claire wanted to kick herself.  He’d offered her a perfect excuse for her behavior and she hadn’t taken it.  Now he wanted to know why she was really anxious and she had to think of another probable lie that would hopefully make him go away.  “I-uh-”

“Dr. Saunders?”  Someone knocked on the open doorway.  

Boyd and Claire both turned to see Topher standing at the clinic entrance.

“Hey, um, sorry to interrupt,” Topher said, glancing between the two of them.

Boyd looked back at Claire, apparently realizing how close he was standing to her.  He immediately took a few steps back, coughing.  

Claire released a deep breath, astonished that somehow Topher of all people would be her savior in this moment.  “Do you need something, Topher?”  She asked him.  

He nodded, “Uh, yeah.  Yeah, Ballard just got back with Echo.  He’s keeping an eye on her while I run a deep cleaning wipe, but I was wondering if you could give her a physical-slash-psychological evaluation after that finishes up.”  He paused for half a second, running a hand through his hair before adding almost sheepishly, “Just so we don’t miss anything.”  

The corners of her lips twitched into something almost like an understanding smile and she nodded, “Of course.”  

Topher grinned, “Great, I’ll go fetch the sleeping beauty.”  He paused, “Well, she’s not so much sleeping as in a electromagnetically-induced micro-coma while her neurochemistry is altered by alternating radio and light waves-”

“Topher,” Boyd interrupted him, raising one eyebrow.  

Topher pointed at him, “Right.  I’ll go get Echo.”  

Claire watched him go, then she turned to Boyd, “I’m sorry, but I’m going to need privacy for a full examination.”  

Boyd nodded, “Of course.  But before you get started, I’d like to just see how Echo’s doing.”  

Claire couldn’t really argue with that logic, she supposed.  Boyd had started out as Echo’s handler, after all, and even though he’d been promoted beyond that, he was definitely still protective of her.

Not that Claire was really in any position to criticize anyone for being protective of Echo.  

Still, she didn’t like the idea of just waiting around with him for Echo to arrive either.  She stepped away from him, making sure that the examination chair was sterile (she’d cleaned it at least four times while waiting for any news of Echo, but you could never be too clean in her line of work).  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him watching her, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and back again.  

“I had a thought I’d like to run by you,” he said finally, after she finished cleaning the chair.  

Claire had to force herself not to wince, to keep her face politely interested as she turned back to face him.  “Yes?”

He smiled, walking towards her again, though this time her back was pressed against the chair.  “I’ve been told that I’m a pretty decent cook,” he told her.  

Claire felt her stomach drop, already knowing where this was going.  

“If you don’t want to go out in public for dinner,” he continued.  “We could go to my place.  It might not be five star dining but I’ve never met anyone who didn’t love my filleted salmon recipe.”  He put a hand on her shoulder, and though there was almost no force behind the gesture, Claire felt her knees start to tremble.  “I promise there will be no loud noises, no crowds, no people.  Just you and me, and a nice meal.”  

Claire was panicking.  Why was he so persistent?  Couldn’t he tell she wasn’t interested?  Her eyes were darting around wildly while her mind raced, and suddenly she spotted movement by the clinic doors.  

“Echo,” she said warmly, pulling herself out of Boyd’s grip on her shoulder and moving towards the entrance.  

Echo frowned, looking between Claire and Boyd as she approached the clinic.  Topher followed a few steps behind her.  “Echo,” he said to her in the voice he reserved only for Dolls and people he thought were idiots.  “Dr. Saunders is going to give you a check up, okay?”

Echo nodded slowly, her eyes still on Boyd.  “I like Dr. Saunders,” she said.

Claire waited for the programmed addition to that statement.  Just like Dolls were hardwired with specific responses to their handlers, the Doll State call-response to hearing Claire’s name was “I like Dr. Saunders, she’s nice.”  

But Echo never finished the statement.  

Claire filed that away mentally to add to her notes on Echo’s condition while Boyd took a step towards the Doll.  

“Hello Echo,” he said warmly.  “How are you feeling?”

Echo looked at him, her face almost confused, “Hello.  I’m supposed to see Dr. Saunders.”  

He nodded, “Then I guess you’d better to see her.”  He turned back to Claire, “I’ll talk to you later.”  

Claire wasn’t sure she liked the implications of that.  But she nodded, heaving yet another sigh of relief as both Topher and Boyd walked away from her clinic.  

She led Echo to the examination table and helped her sit down.  Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she pulled the doors to the clinic shut.  Feeling a little more secure, she started her examination.

“Hello Echo,” she began with the standard greeting to be used with a Doll.  “How are you feeling?”  Topher had done a deep wipe of Echo, after all.  Claire wouldn’t be surprised if this reverted Echo back to a standard Doll State for some time.  She braced herself, wondering if she would ever be able to talk to Echo in a more self-aware state again.  

“I don’t know,” Echo replied.  

Claire relaxed somewhat.  This was still her Echo.  “Are you okay?”  She asked softly.  

Echo took her time responding.  “I had a baby,” she said dully.  “Now I don’t have him anymore.  I feel sad.”

Without thinking, Claire took one of Echo’s hands in her own.  “I’m sorry, Echo.”  

Echo squeezed Claire’s hand.  “All of these things that happen to me.  I feel them all.  I was married.  I felt love.  And pain, and fear.  They made me  _ love _ my little boy, and then they took him away.”  There were tears shining in the Doll’s eyes as she spoke.  “They make it so real.  Every time, they make it so real.”  She bit her lip, looking at Claire.  “Why do they do that?”

Claire knew, logically, why they do that, of course.  She knew that the Dollhouse was a business, that they sold themselves on being able to offer real experiences to their clients.  She knew that people involved in this business either don’t care about what the Dolls feel, or else assuaged their grumbling consciences with the fact that Dolls always forget.  

But Echo couldn’t forget.  And suddenly all of those logical explanations that Claire had known and understood didn’t make an ounce of sense to her as she looked down at the exhausted Doll clinging to her hand like it was a lifeline.  

“I don’t know,” she told Echo truthfully.  Because she didn’t know.  She didn’t know a lot of things anymore.

Echo nodded.  She hadn’t been expecting a definite answer.  She’d just hoped that Whiskey-no, Dr. Saunders-was as confused as she was.  “I asked Paul too,” she said.  

Claire’s head shot up.  “You did?”  She asked, trying her best to sound indifferent.  “What did he say?”

Echo shook her head, frowning as she struggled to remember through the haze of her most recent wipe.  “He said he could tell Topher, make it all go away.  He said I wouldn’t have to feel sad anymore.”

Claire frowned as she recognized a hint of Madeline’s story in Paul’s suggestion.  Didn’t he realize that Echo was not Madeline?  The things they needed to be complete were on vastly different planes.  Weren’t they?  “Do you want to stop feeling sad?”  She asked hesitantly.  

Echo shook her head, “Feeling nothing would be worse.  That would be like before.  Asleep.” 

Claire thought about it.  If she could go back to sleep, if she could forget what she knew about herself, would she?  She shook her head.  No, she wouldn’t trade this for forgetting everything.  

“Hey,” She pulled up a chair, sitting next to Echo, placing her hand on Echo’s forearm in a ghostly facsimile to what Boyd had done just a few minutes earlier.  “You’re awake now.  We both are.  And we’re not going back to sleep.”  

Echo smiled at her, putting her hand on top of Claire’s.  “We were friends, you know,” she said quietly.

Claire looked at her, confused.  “What?”

“Whiskey,” Echo clarified.  “We were friends.  We would make art together, and eat meals at the same table.  Sometimes we would just sit together, not doing anything, just sitting.”  She grinned, looking upwards as she remembered those times.  “It was nice.”  

“It sounds nice,” Claire said softly.  

“Do you remember it?”  Echo asked.  

Claire frowned.  “Of course not.  I’m an imprint,” she nearly choked on the word, realizing as she said it that it was the first time she’d openly acknowledged this truth.  “I-I can’t remember anything more than what Topher programmed me to remember.”  She took a deep breath before asking, “Is-is that why you told me?  Because you remembered Whiskey?”  It would make sense, she told herself.  Echo would of course be drawn to a familiar person, even if the personality was different.  Maybe that coincidence was the only reason Echo had involved her at all.  “Because I’m not Whiskey, or any of the other imprints of hers you might remember.  I’m just Dr. Saunders, I’m just Claire.”  

But Echo shook her head.  “No, no, it’s more than that.”  She sighed.  “I don’t know why, but I just,” she shrugged, “I need you.”  

Claire bit her lip, smiling.  “I’m here for you, Echo.  I’ll be here as long as you need me.”  Then she pushed herself out of her chair, “But I am supposed to be examining you, and if we take any more time getting started, someone might get suspicious.”  

Echo nodded, falling quiet and looking around the clinic, then through the windows at the rest of the Dollhouse.  She was safe here, she could feel it.  Whiskey, Claire, Dr. Saunders, Jennifer, whatever name was hers right now, Echo knew that this woman was safe.  And that someday, if they stayed together, everything was going to be okay.  


End file.
